


It's Complicated

by LesMisgayrables



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: BUT COMBEFERRE SAW HIM FIRST SHUSH, I don't know what else to tag, M/M, Not Anymore, bit of sads, boys discussing literature, chapter 5 earns the M rating, chapter 6 aka Spot All The References, enjolras kind of falling for R, for the Ferre/R week, happy Ferrari week, i think it does? or is it still a T?, idek, lots of cutsies, lots of happies, rating is for future chapters god bless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesMisgayrables/pseuds/LesMisgayrables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Combeferre discovers Grantaire likes to read Nietzsche in his spare time, he's understandably curious. This curiosity leads to close friendships, feelings, loss of feelings, and gradual acquiring of feelings by none other than Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Give Me Reason

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be a drabble to rid me of my writer's block and I kept writing because it wouldn't get away, so, funnily, this got away from me. Currently writing the fourth chapter of I don't know how many. Expect nothing smart.  
> Uploaded it to Tumblr a few days ago, but I revised it and bade it a little bit longer before posting here.  
> Title comes from "Same Mistake", by James Blunt.

He walked into the library with an air of excitement. He scanned the room without paying much attention to the actual books, or the smell of dusty paper and wood polish, or even the actual people; he was looking for a curly black mop of hair. He walked briskly and bumped into one bookshelf and two chairs, arising a few sneers from annoyed students, until he found him, finally, bowed over a thick, thick old-looking book. From what had happened today, he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.

“Grantaire,” he greeted. Grantaire looked up, startled, before smiling slightly.

“Combeferre, what a pleasant surprise.” His voice was tired, but the pleased surprise in it was undeniable. His ice blue eyes were puffy and baggy, looking almost bruised, and his wild hair was obviously uncombed, however, his clothes weren’t rumpled or dirty.

“Rough day?” Combeferre asked casually as he sat opposite to him.

Grantaire snorted and rubbed his eyes. “We both know what you’re really asking. No, I didn’t sleep last night,” he sighed, and the blond hummed sympathetically. “Clearly sobriety disagrees with me.”

“You’re just going through a rough patch. It’ll get better.”

“Yeah, like you would know.” Combeferre said nothing. Grantaire sighed again and took a deep breath, before grimacing apologetically and bowing his head to the book again. “Sorry, it’s just… you know.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he replied easily.

“So, how did you find me?” Grantaire asked just as easily, humoring him.

“You mentioned last week that you come here almost every evening.”

“Ah, so I did.” Combeferre waited for Grantaire to ask what he was doing there, but when nothing came, he spoke as if nothing had happened. “We talked about Nietzsche today in Philosophy.”

Grantaire looked up. “You’ve come all the way to the library after a day of classes to talk about it to the cynical drunk?”

“Recovering,” Combeferre pointed out before leaning in. “I haven’t read much Nietzsche, so imagine my surprise when the professor read a few passages from _Beyond Good And Evil_ , and I recognized one of them.”

“Well, if I were an idealist, I’d grow weary of Nietzsche, too.”

“I was trying to figure out how it was that I recognized him when I recalled what you said about three weeks ago.”

“Good memory.”

“It was that same passage, practically word for word.”

“Not even I remember what I said three weeks ago. I say a lot of things.”

“You quoted a full Nietzsche passage.”

“People do that.”

“Verbatim,” Combeferre pressed. He licked his lips and leaned further in. This time, Grantaire drew back a few centimeters. “Tell me about him.”

“What?” Grantaire frowned.

“You’ve clearly read a bit of Nietzsche, and you clearly agree with him. Tell me why.”

“So you do, too?” Grantaire’s frown deepened.

“I do what? Agree with him? I don’t think so – not really. It wasn’t much, what we read, but the three passages we read were very different from each other. Like he’s mixed.”

“He’s not mixed,” Grantaire replied automatically. Combeferre grinned internally.

“How so?”

“Why are you so intent on making me prove I’ve read Philosophy?”

“I’m not making you prove anything, I’m just really, genuinely interested.”

“I’ve used lots of Nietzsche to contradict Enjolras’ Rousseau before, yet you were never interested.”

“Who says I wasn’t interested? Just because I don’t enthusiastically nod to everything you say doesn’t mean I don’t listen and actually contemplate your arguments. I just didn’t know you read philosophers, and I didn’t know you liked them enough to memorize their words and be able to quote them when the occasion is needed.”

“So you thought I brought up such brilliant arguments out of thin air? How flattering.” Grantaire smirked amusedly and Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“Well, the only book I’ve ever seen you read is Lord of The Rings, so –”

“Excuse me, do not depreciate Tolkien. He’s a philosopher all on his own. Lord of The Rings reeks of idealism. The Silmarillion is cynical through and through.”

“The books have religious bases. Religion isn’t the same as idealism. Plus, his views seem slightly skewed, if he wrote on both extremes,” taunted Combeferre. He did his best to hide how he was looking forward to Grantaire’s defense.

Grantaire leaned forward. “Skewed? No. Idealism, realism and cynicism aren’t the only branches of philosophy, Combeferre, you know that. Tolkien is much more complex than that.

What Tolkien has is hope. Hope is a separate entity, entirely. How one uses hope makes the school of thought. Tolkien established how humanity is rotten in Silmarillion, and how the human being is a species doomed to err and fail, but he has hope, and he hopes and believes we can be redeemed. That’s what he says with Lord of The Rings. Take away the religion, take away the elves, the dragons and hobbits, and you’ll be left with resign and a tendency to hope. He was neither a cynic, nor an idealist, and he’s clearly not a realist. Tolkien is much more than a storyteller. He’s an undervalued, soft-core philosopher.”

“You like Harry Potter more than A Song of Ice and Fire, though.”

“What have those to do with anything?” Grantaire asked bemusedly.

“Martin is fully cynical and Rowling is an idealist.”

“Through and through.”

“You’re a cynic. Logically, you should like Game of Thrones more than Harry Potter. You have no idea how confusing it is to see your choice of fiction novels.”

Grantaire replied easily. “Well, look at _you_ , devouring George Martin,” he glanced at the other student curiously. “You’ve read Victor Hugo?”

“ _You’ve_ read Victor Hugo?”

“Oh, that tone of surprise,” he chuckled before turning his gaze back to his book and citing: “‘That which we lack attracts us. No one loves the light like the blind man. The toad has his eyes fixed on heaven in order to watch the bird in its flight’, or something like that. I’m paraphrasing. Point still stands.”

Combeferre stared at him, chin resting on his hands and an infinitely curious expression on his face. Grantaire lifted the book closer to him and the blond took the opportunity to look at the title: _History of Contemporary Art and The Greats_ , it read, in bright golden letters.

“I don’t know much about art,” he said, barely aware of himself, “but I think my favorite painter is Claude Monet.”

“You would.”

“Meaning?”

Grantaire looked up briefly. “You look like a Monet kind of person.”

“That doesn’t explai – whatever,” he rolled his eyes and continued with his study of the man. “Grantaire, do you come here often?”

“Why do you ask? Want to visit again some other day and debate with me about things?”

“Yes. Or not necessarily debate; just… talk,” he shrugs as Grantaire looks up again, bemused, this time closing the book. “Stop looking so surprised at my interest.”

“I think that could take a while.”

“You know, you talk an awful lot at the Musain, but for the insane amount of things you say – and they’re all brilliant, in a way, mind you – you don’t really… _say_ anything. About yourself. And I kind of want to listen to what you have to say.”

“Why?” asked Grantaire, still doubtful and Combeferre smiled.

“Similar interests, different viewpoints. We’re both addicted to black coffee.”

“And our shared affinity to black is clearly an important incentive.”

“That was me inviting you for a cup of coffee.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows and glanced at his watch. “At… eight in the evening?”

“No, not today. Sometime. Date is implicit.”

“To discuss Nietzsche.”

“To discuss Nietzsche, if you want to,” shrugged Combeferre. “Or to tell me about your art, I don’t know.”

Grantaire looks at him funnily before snorting. “Yeah, sure. Why the hell not,” he stood up and grabbed the book, Combeferre following suit. “I’m going home. You free tomorrow? For that coffee?”

“How’s five o’clock for you? My last lecture is over at four, and the meeting at the Musain is at seven.”

“Sure. Where? The Musain?”

“That Starbucks two blocks away.”

Grantaire turned around abruptly and raised his eyebrows. “Starbucks? Don’t you and Enjolras avoid big, capitalistic monopolies?”

Combeferre huffed out a laugh. “ _Enjolras_ avoids big, capitalistic monopolies. I give him the benefit of the doubt. I don’t mind Starbucks. Their Americano is quite good.” He glanced at Grantaire, who was grinning at him joyously.

“I feel like we’ll be sneaking around, avoiding his attention.”

“Technically, we will,” he admits, “but he’s not the boss of me.”

Grantaire snorted and patted his shoulder once. “See ya tomorrow, Combeferre.”

“Goodbye. Try to catch some sleep.”

“Fat chance of that,” Grantaire called back loudly, and got a few shushes from focused students for his efforts. Combeferre stood for a minute looking around before getting out, too.

 

Grantaire opened the door to his apartment and walked heavily, his steps sounding muffled but loud in the otherwise silent place. His keys rattled on the kitchen counter when he set them down. He turned on the light and dropped to the sofa, turning on the old TV, hoping to feel sleepy for the first time since he started cutting back on the alcohol. Exhaustion? Sure, all the time. He was perpetually exhausted and tired; he just couldn’t sleep, and when he did, he didn’t wake up feeling rested.

Giving up on trying to feel drowsy, he dragged himself to the kitchen and grabbed the one bottle of wine in his apartment, almost empty. He poured himself a glass, his third and final glass of the day, and drank it slowly, dragging it out. He took the last sip a few minutes later, and leaned down, resting his forearms on the counter and closing his eyes. He looked at the easel in the corner with longing and apology, and looked away as he, once again, padded to his room to try to catch some sleep, or at least, some inspiration to pick up his favorite brush again.

He fell asleep when there wasn’t a single source of light in the sky. He woke up before dawn and saw the sunrise silently.

 

 

Combeferre parked his car and walked to the unsurprisingly full Starbucks five minutes before the hour they agreed on and didn’t bother schooling his surprised expression when he was Grantaire already there and smiling at him.

“You’re early,” chuckles Grantaire, offering him a steaming ‘Venti’ cup of Americano. Combeferre took it gratefully, noticing the name scribbled on it.

“You’re earlier,” he replies and motions to the cup curiously. “Claude?”

“Like Claude Monet. I don’t think they could’ve spelled Combeferre,” he chuckles and sits back down on the chair he was using, motioning for Combeferre to do the same. “So, what’s up?”

“Did you sleep well?” Combeferre immediately asks.

“Fine. So, what’s up?”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Combeferre…” Grantaire shifted in his seat and looked away.

“Just tell me you’re not on the bad side of ‘fine’, and I’ll drop it.” Grantaire sighed.

“I’m not on the bad side of fine,” he paused here and drummed his fingers on the table. Combeferre waited in silence. “I feel like shit. I can’t sleep more than four or five hours every day, the constant craving is shitty, and I can’t even paint. Everything I do is mediocre.” They both sipped from their coffees.

“I’m sure it’ll all go back to normal once you start sleeping more,” said Combeferre, gently and ignored Grantaire’s eye-roll. He proceeded with care. “You know, you’re welcome at my place whenever you feel like having some company, or just… whenever.”

“Are you kidding me? Enjolras lives there. But I appreciate it; thanks.”

“He doesn’t hate you, he just doesn’t understand you.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t treat me like shit sometimes.”

“You’re saying ‘shit’ a lot today,” Combeferre took a big gulp and smiled playfully at him. Grantaire couldn’t help but feel at ease.

“Because everything is shit. Shit, shit, shitty shit, shitting. Shit, shat, shitten,” he looked down for a moment before looking back up. “So, anything in particular you want to talk about other than my shitty life?”

“So you’ve read Victor Hugo?”

“I might have.”

“What do you think? What’s your verdict?”

Grantaire chuckled and finished his small coffee, tossing it to the nearest trash can. “Tell me how you liked him, first. You barely said anything yesterday.”

“I think he’s brilliant. He’s a genius. He was very advanced for his era, and he had knowledge of every area… did you know he loved architecture, and art, and photography?”

“Yeah, I did. And, like, I agree with you, but what I’m asking is what you think of his writing style, and his rose-stained eyes… you know, his philosophy and view of life.”

Combeferre took a breath and started talking, and Grantaire leaned back on his chair, relaxed. Grantaire interfered every minute or so, and Combeferre listened, but interrupted when he thought he saw a flaw, or when he disagreed. Grantaire not only tore down everything Combeferre said, but also gave disproving arguments that supported his point of view. They unknowingly changed topics a few times. Almost two hours after the start of their conversation, Grantaire was once again arguing how small dogs suck when Combeferre interrupted.

“You’re brilliant.”

“What? How? You hate Poodles, too?”

“No, no, I mean, you’re a brilliant debater. I had never seen you actually debate.”

“I do that all the time!”

“No, you don’t,” laughs Combeferre. “You usually just disagree with Enjolras and tell him how he’s wrong, but you never really… argue why your viewpoint is better, and you’re frankly great at it.”

Grantaire smirked smugly, but blushed. “Thanks, I guess. If what you’re calling me is a devil’s advocate, I don’t know if it’s really a compliment.”

“You’re not the devil’s advocate when we both agree that big dogs are the best. Plus, the role of devil’s advocate is very important. It can strengthen any argument. So yes, it was a compliment.”

“Oh,” his smugness disappeared to be replaced with a small, honest smile. “Thank you, Combeferre.”

“You should do that more often, at the Musain. The arguing in favor of your opinion thing.”

“Enjolras can’t stand me when I prove him wrong, how would he react if I started doing this?” Grantaire giggled and drank from his cup – his third cup – of black coffee.

“R,” at this, Grantaire looked at him. Combeferre had never called him by his nickname before, “he gets displeased with you –”

“Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“– because you undo everything he’s done, and then don’t offer any alternative.”

Grantaire shrugs. “Whatever. It wouldn’t even make a difference.”

Combeferre sighs and rolls his eyes amusedly before looking at his watch and cursing.

“Careful there, Combeferre. You might get used to it.”

“It’s ten past seven,” Combeferre said in alarm, already standing up. Grantaire laughed and put on his jacked languorously.

“Oh, he’s going to be so pissed.”

 

Enjolras snapped his head to the side when the door opened, already glaring and expecting Grantaire, before halting and staring dumbly at the pair; Grantaire had his hand on Combeferre’s arm and they were chuckling to themselves, ignorant to their friends’ attention on them.

“Hey, can you stay after the meeting’s over?” asked Grantaire as they walked to the big table.

“Only if there’s no more coffee,” Combeferre laughed quietly.

“I can’t promise that.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Sorry, I have Studio on the afternoon,” said Grantaire as he sat down on his usual spot, following Combeferre with his eyes. “How ‘bout the day after?”

“Same place, same time?”

“Sure,” Grantaire grinned and Combeferre sat down next to Enjolras with a similar grin.

“I’m going to pretend that’s not unusual,” said Courfeyrac.

“Where were you? I thought you had to go to school.” Enjolras asked Combeferre, eyeing Grantaire indiscreetly.

“Don’t worry, Apollo, I did nothing to him.”

“Starbucks,” quipped Combeferre. “I drank too much coffee.” Enjolras looked at the both of them distastefully.

“Why would you buy something from that foul place?”

They both knew that the question wasn’t meant to be answered, so they both shrugged and smiled at each other before the meeting continued.

Grantaire was oblivious to Combeferre’s inquisitive gaze and Enjolras’ skeptic glances, absorbed as he was in his staring at nothing.


	2. The Love There That's Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre takes an unsuspecting Enjolras with him to meet Grantaire at the library, hoping to better their volatile relationship, and managing to ignite a spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post this before the end of the week. I finished writing chapter 4 yesterday (I'm really excited about what comes after that one, ahhh!!), so expect the next part in a little less than a week.  
> Title comes from "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", by The Beatles.

It became a regular occurrence during the next few weeks, Combeferre and Grantaire seeing each other in the library, joining the other when classes were over and sometimes even having lunch together, and since Enjolras was always with Combeferre, this meant Grantaire was spending a lot of time with the both of them, but Enjolras mostly just ignored them, never quite joining in the conversation.

Combeferre and Enjolras were walking to the library discussing what they’d seen in their shared European History class. Combeferre opened the door and told Enjolras to lower his volume. The smaller man seemed to wake up from a trance.

“Wait, what are we doing here?” he frowned.

“Grantaire told me to come. Apparently he found something interesting.”

“Oh.”

Combeferre looked at him from the corner of his eye and waited for the never-coming questioning. They walked in silence for a few seconds. “Why do you never say anything about Grantaire? Or _to_ Grantaire, for that matter?”

Enjolras frowned again. “What am I supposed to say?” Combeferre sighed and stopped, looking around.

“Can you see him?”

“Hey, what is _he_ doing here?” an accusing Grantaire asked from behind them. They turned around to see the man frowning at Enjolras.

“What’s the problem with my being here?” Enjolras replied, insulted.

“Calm down, both of you,” said Combeferre with an internalized groan. “What did you find, R?”

Grantaire was still looking at Enjolras. “He wasn’t really supposed to, you know, be here.”

“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Enjolras scowled. The Art major looked at him for one last second, warily.

“Don’t say anything,” he tells him and looks at Combeferre, finally. “I was going through the Sociology section and I found –”

“Sociology section? Why would you be –”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre whined, “please. What did you find there, then, R?”

“Come, come, come,” he said happily and started walking, the other two on his heels. “I think it was misplaced. It’s a thesis by an honors student from ages ago; a study of how different ideologies are distributed within different people in different contexts.”

“What positions does it take into account? When marking the difference between people, I mean.”

“Um, economical, geographical, marital, social, familiar, and scholar status. You see how certain people are more prone to agree with certain ideology… it’s stupidly cool.”

“I’m guessing it’s divided by ideology?”

“That’s the best part: you see the study from both sides.”

“How so?”

“Like ‘the average communist’ and ‘what ideology single middle-aged mothers living in rural towns are most likely to follow’?”

Grantaire looked back and smiled at Enjolras slightly. “Exactly like that.”

Combeferre, being Enjolras’ best friend, noticed how baffled he was by the whole situation. He raised his eyebrows at him, but Enjolras revealed nothing. “And why did you find it so interesting? Because you finally agree with somebody other than Nietzsche and Tolkien?”

“Tolkien? Isn’t he the author of Lord of The Rings? Wait, Nietzsche?” Enjolras asked bemused, but his question went ignored.

“I don’t think I can agree or disagree. The information is purely objective… which isn’t something I normally enjoy – objectivity. Objectiveness. Whatever.”

“You agree with Nietzsche? You’ve _read_ Nietzsche?”

“But it’s not objective,” Combeferre argued. “Individual philosophy is never objective. Not two persons in the same situation think the same.”

“ _Exactly_.”

“I’m not sure I’m following anymore,” Combeferre frowned.

“Even if Tolkien _was_ a philosopher, he’s clearly an idealist, so I don’t see how _you_ would agree with him.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” Grantaire turned around and fixed Enjolras with an annoyed glare before fixing that glare on Combeferre. “I very specifically told you in that text not to bring him.”

“Do you not see how annoying that is?” Enjolras quietly screeches.

“Shut up, Apollo.”

“Quit calling me that!”

“Grantaire, stop it,” Combeferre implored. “He can go sit somewhere else while you show me the thesis.”

“Now you, too?”

“Do you think he’s going anywhere now?” says Grantaire, running his hands through his face.

“That’s right; I’m not going anywhere, because I don’t want to.”

“They’re going to kick us out if you keep speaking that loud…”

“Screw it.” Grantaire resumed walking. Combeferre glared at Enjolras.

“What?” he said in reply, indignant.

“You know what. I didn’t bring you here to argue with him –”

“Then what did you bring me here for?”

“I brought you here to listen to him – and just to _listen_. And because I wanted to see him, anyways.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him.

“Listen to him? Why? Just tell me. I’m pretty sure nothing can surprise me anymore, that with Grantaire suddenly reading Nietzsche and saying Tolkien is a philosopher.”

“Please do not say that in front of Grantaire ever again. Don’t degrade Tolkien in his presence.”

“You didn’t answer –”

“Just keep quiet if you’re not going to say anything nice or productive.” Enjolras huffed in response.

“We lost him, anyways.”

“He’s in Sociology,” said Combeferre before starting walking again. Enjolras followed silently. They finally found Grantaire in a niche of books. Enjolras frowned.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “How long have you been here?”

“Since this morning,” Grantaire said haughtily, not looking up from the thesis. “My workshop was postponed until tomorrow and nobody cared enough to tell me, so I walked to my building, read the bulletin on the door, and came here.”

Combeferre stepped inside the circle of books carefully and sat down. Enjolras sat on the nearest chair and picked up a random book from the nearest shelf, browsing through its pages.

“Don’t be such a child, Enjolras,” Grantaire scoffed, “there’s plenty of space left.” Enjolras obediently placed the book back where it was and silently dropped down on the floor next to him.

“Is this the thesis?” Combeferre asked, pointing at the read Grantaire was holding. The brunet handed it to him with a slight smile.

“Read the intro. Page five through seven.” Combeferre started reading silently. Grantaire breathed out and leaned on the shelf behind him, closing his eyes. Enjolras shifted his legs and opened his mouth two times before finally speaking.

“Can I ask just one question, though?” he blurted out. Grantaire opened his left eye and looked at him briefly before humming in consent and closing it again.

“It’s actually more than one question,” started Enjolras. “You’ve read Nietzsche?”

“Yes, and clearly you haven’t.”

“What makes you think that I haven’t?” he frowned.

“Because if you had, you would recognize him, or at least his essence, when I disagree with you at the meetings,” he said. Enjolras blushed, but said nothing. Grantaire opened his eyes and looked at him fully. “Or maybe you have read Nietzsche, and you didn’t know I had because you actually don’t listen to anything I say during the meetings and are just pissed at my interruptions.”

Enjolras looked at him coolly for a moment. “I haven’t read Nietzsche. I tried it once, and couldn’t even finish three chapters before I gave it up.”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t exactly be your cup of tea.”

“Or maybe it’s _exactly_ my cup of tea. You know. Because I despise tea.”

Grantaire snorted and shifted his gaze to Combeferre, who was still reading, occasionally making a noise at the words he read. “What’s question number two?”

Enjolras had to think for a moment. “I can see how you like Nietzsche, because he’s mostly cynical –”

“That’s so wrong, on so many levels.”

“Oh. Really?”

“I’m not even gonna get into it,” he sighed minutely, “but please, do continue with your questioning.”

“Why do you think of Tolkien as a philosopher, and how come you think like him?”

Grantaire started playing with his fingers, but Enjolras couldn’t be sure if it was for lack of something better to do, or if it was a nervous reflex. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me something that isn’t,” shrugged Enjolras. “Can you water it down?” He waited for a moment as Grantaire apparently struggled with finding the words.

“Tolkien isn’t an idealist. He acknowledges how shitty everything is, but he sees beauty, and he believes. He has hope in the future – he doesn’t believe everything can be fixed or perfected, like an idealist does; he believes in redemption.”

“And you believe in redemption? I thought I once heard you say you don’t believe in anything,” he lifted the last syllable of the sentence, leaving it open to corrections. He tried not to be too interested in the answer. Grantaire, again, took his time.

“That’s… also complicated.”

“Water it down again?” he asked hopefully. Grantaire changed the topic.

“Combeferre, are you seriously still reading?”

“No; I’m just giving you two some time to talk.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Grantaire chuckled airily. “So, what did you think?”

Combeferre looked up to him and smirked. “I think this could be a really fun experiment. We could prove or disprove it.”

“With the rest of the gang? But they’re all mad; they can’t be used as data. They’ve been brainwashed.”

“Being a mad idealist doesn’t mean you were brainwashed,” Combeferre chuckled and Enjolras found himself half smiling.

“Yup.”

“This really is interesting, though. It was lost in Sociology, then?”

“Yes! And even if it’s in the correct area, it was placed in the _Anthropology_ shelf.”

“Whatever were you doing in the Anthropology shelf?” asked Enjolras. Grantaire shrugged.

“Dunno, just browsing.”

Enjolras nodded in confused agreement and continued with his attempt at deciphering the black-haired man.

“So,” asked Combeferre, “what’s your favorite part of this study?”

“Well, while Conservatism is the largest ideology, I’m surprised there were so many Socialists.”

“You shouldn’t,” Combeferre replied. “There are many people who think Socialism is the best option, but we don’t hear about them since they’re not in any position of power.”

“Yeah, it says so in the study. An awful lot of Marx in there.”

“You don’t like Marx?”

“Mixed feelings. He’s volatile.”

Combeferre nodded. “I agree with you on that.”

Enjolras listened to the debate attentively, more than slightly befuddled. Combeferre listened to Grantaire’s opinions and urged him to talk more, which is the exact opposite he often does, himself. They told each other where they agreed or disagreed, and argued their point. Neither of them were smirking, or trying to beat the other down, but simply listening. He lost track of the conversation after a while and instead started reading the titles of the books behind him.

“Apollo, you with us?”

He sighed. “I liked it more when you called me Enjolras.”

“How difficult must your life be,” he joked as he stood up and reached a hand to Combeferre, who took it and pushed himself up with a grin. Enjolras stood up after a few seconds. “Where to, o Guide?”

“You call him ‘Guide’, now?”

“Well, I can’t call him Athena. He’s too handsome to be a goddess.”

Combeferre blushed. “I don’t mind.”

“But isn’t Athena the goddess of mathematics and the arts?” Enjolras frowned, failing to see how his friend could be named after her. The other two looked at him curiously.

“You know the Greeks?” Grantaire asked.

“Er… just the basics.”

“Athena is also the goddess of strategy, justice and wisdom.”

“Oh, I see. Now it makes sense.”

“But I can’t call you Athena, ‘Ferre, I’m sorry, even if you’re also terribly good at math – and a fine work of art,” Grantaire grinned teasingly at Combeferre, who blushed further. “I only have two gods in my life.”

“No problem, just ‘Ferre’ is fine,” he chuckled and started putting back the numerous books Grantaire had used to build his niche.

“Who’s the other one?” Enjolras asked, awkwardly standing there while the other two picked up books.

“Éponine,” they both replied at the same time.

“Artemis, goddess of hunt,” Combeferre said softly.

“And of so many things more,” smiled Grantaire.

“Isn’t she –?”

“Ignore the part where she’s the sister of dear Mr. Apollo.”

“But don’t you care about every single detail fitting?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire raised his eyebrows and looked at Enjolras coolly.

“Apollo is also the god of music. You think I cared about that?”

Combeferre snorted and Enjolras huffed. It was no big secret his aptitude for anything musical was almost nil.

They finished getting their space back to normal and headed out of the library and into the cold night. They stopped near the parking lot.

“Where are you?” asked Grantaire.

“We have to walk to the main parking lot,” shrugged Combeferre. Grantaire’s eyes widened.

“You walked all the way here from _there?_ ”

“It’s not that much,” Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“Let me take you. It’s cold and I’m not letting you get sick.”

“Yes, thank you,” Enjolras replied, already rubbing his arms. Grantaire glanced at him briefly.

“See? Even the god of the sun is cold.” Enjolras blushed very, very slightly.

Combeferre laughed. “Alright, then. Thanks.” They walked to R’s battered Jetta and got in, Combeferre on the front seat. As they slowly drove to the main parking lot, they kept the comfortable silence for a minute.

“How are you sleeping, R?”

He sighed. “Barely.”

“You’re still struggling?” Combeferre asked, disbelieving, and Grantaire nodded miserably. Enjolras frowned.

“You’re having trouble sleeping? Why hadn’t you said so before?”

Nobody said anything for a while. “I had mentioned it before.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I mustn’t have heard.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, you’re welcome to my –”

“‘Place anytime’, right, I know the drill, Enjolras. Combeferre was weeks ahead of you.”

“Guys, stop it,” Combeferre sighed. “I thought you two had a truce.”

“Well, apparently the truce is over.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Just shut up. Nothing to be sorry about.”

“R, that’s enough,” Combeferre said tersely. Grantaire promptly stopped talking. Enjolras looked out the window. “You two are like teenagers together. You were fine not a minute ago.”

“I don’t –”

“Cut it,” Combeferre finally snapped, before breathing deeply. “The offer still stands, Grantaire. Anytime you feel like it, door’s open.”

“I think I’ll pass again, thanks,” answered Grantaire. He stopped as soon as they got to the entrance of the lot. The roommates got out of the car sheepishly. Combeferre walked to the driver’s side and leaned his head through the window, Grantaire looking resolutely away.

“R?” he called softly. Grantaire sighed and looked at him expectantly. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll pay for you.”

“Not necessary.”

“Three cups of coffee. And then we can go to yours and watch a movie or something, if you’re up for it.”

“The last time we saw a movie was a disaster.”

“But it was a hilarious disaster,” Combeferre pointed out. Grantaire visibly deflated and nodded.

“Sorry. See ya tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand. I would… probably react the same way. I guess,” he responded very softly. Enjolras wasn’t actively eavesdropping, per se, but he did wonder if he was missing something.

Grantaire’s face contorted into a scowl as he understood what Combeferre was implying. “I told you it’s not like that.”

“Well, I mean, it obviously still hurts –”

“Combeferre,” he said sharply, “it’s not like that.”

“Right. Okay. Goodnight.”

“Likewise.”

Combeferre stepped away and they watched as Grantaire drove away.

Enjolras turned to him. “What the hell did that even mean?”

Combeferre didn’t even look at him before starting walking. “I think I’m angry with you.”

“You think you are?”

“Yes, I’m not sure.”

“And why are you angry with me?” he asked incredulous and expected an immediate response, however, Combeferre didn’t answer for a while.

“I don’t think I know the answer to that, either.”

“I’m gonna pretend that makes sense,” Enjolras said, annoyed.

“Listen, I don’t know if I’m angry with you, but I _am_ displeased, so please, stop… that.”

Enjolras sighed and unlocked the car, before silently getting in, and silently watching the road while Combeferre silently drove. They got into the apartment silently, and Combeferre skipped his nightly cup of hot chocolate, surprising Enjolras once, in favor of going to his room and practically slamming the door, surprising Enjolras twice.

Enjolras, for his part, walked slowly to the kitchen, opened the fridge, closed the fridge, and calmly walked to his room, and only when he was safely tucked under his covers and in his warm pajamas did he permit himself to think about the Grantaire, the Grantaire _so different_ than what he’d seen before, that he met today.

He thought about what he said about Tolkien, what he said about himself ( _it’s complicated_ ), and of how apparently he likes heavy reading. He still wasn’t over the surprise.

He remembered how Combeferre and Grantaire, sometimes, would debate playfully and lightly on those occasions they saw each other, but debate nonetheless; how he’s actually a cheerful, cunning person, and not just the smirking cynic he thought he knew.

He thought of the few smiles the man has sent his way, and of how suiting they are, unlike that self-deprecating smile he seemed to wear perpetually before deciding to try out sobriety (for the third time, but hey, who is he to judge?).

He wondered if he’d ever be able to see that facet of Grantaire again, and he wondered at the fact that he’d like it. He fell asleep soon enough after that realization. Combeferre, however, in his own bed, in his own room, lost in his own mind, didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I know this is painfully bad, but if you read it for the sake of the ship, you, sir, are loved by me.


	3. Our Wrongs Remain Unrectified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire almost relapses, and goes to Combeferre and Enjolras. The day after, they go to the Louvre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two things I'd like to say about this:  
> 1) I've never in my life gone to the Louvre. Hell, I've never been to Paris. Hell, I've never set foot in bloody *Europe*. I haven't even travelled anywhere outside the American continent, oh, my god. So watch me bullshit my way around this lovely place I don't know.  
> 2) This is the lamest filler chapter ever. It's totally a filler, even though little, minuscule shifts happen here. Filler chapters are important.
> 
> Title comes from "Sing For Absolution", by Muse.

The routine changed a week later, on Saturday night.

He opened the door and was immediately assaulted in a hug. He only knew who the assaulter was because of the curls in the corner of his eye.

“Grantaire?” he asked, surprised. The man just sobbed in response. His face became alarm itself. “Grantaire? Grantaire, what’s wrong? What happened?” Grantaire continued sobbing, hugging Combeferre closer to him, still. “Grantaire, I need you to tell me what’s going on, unless you want me to get to the wrong conclusion.”

“Who are you talking to, ‘Ferre?”

“Enjolras, come here, now.” Enjolras must’ve heard the alarm in his voice and walked out of his room, freezing upon seeing Grantaire in Combeferre’s arms.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” cried Combeferre, “he won’t speak.”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras walked closer and tugged on his curls. “R?”

Grantaire sobbed loudly. A phone started ringing. “Fuck’s sake…”

“It’s yours, Ferre. Should I answer – it’s Éponine,” Enjolras answers the phone without waiting for a response. “What’s wrong with –”

“ _Is Grantaire with you?_ ”

“Yes, he is. What’s happened?”

“I don’t _know!_ I came home and the door was wide open.”

“So what happened?” Combeferre asks, still entrapped by Grantaire’s arms.

“She doesn’t know, either.”

“Who doesn’t know what, either?”

“Then why did she call?”

“Is that Combeferre? Pass the phone to Combeferre.”

“Pass me the phone, Enjolras!”

“Stop!” Enjolras says loudly, and thankfully, they both close their mouths. “Éponine, do you know anything else?”

“There’s an empty bottle of wine on the floor.”

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” asks Combeferre. “What did she tell you? Pass me the _fucking_ phone, Enjolras!” Enjolras hands the phone to Combeferre and disentangles Grantaire from him. Grantaire clings to the leader, in his place. “Éponine, what happened?”

“I don’t know. I came home, the door was open, and there was an empty bottle of wine on the floor.”

“He banged on my door and knocked the breath out of me as soon as I opened it. And he’s sobbing. _What happened?_ ”

“ _I don’t know, Combeferre!_ ”

“Stop shouting! You’re making it worse,” called Enjolras from the couch, where Grantaire had his head buried in Enjolras’ neck and was breathing rapidly.

“I’m going through his stuff, I’ll let you know if I find something. And for fuck’s sake, tell me as soon as he spits it out.”

“Yes, of course.” They hang up at the same time. Combeferre makes his way to Grantaire and tries his best to sound gentle. “Gran – R, please tell us what’s wrong. Éponine’s really worried. I’m really worried.”

“Me, too,” Enjolras added when it was clear Combeferre would not include him. “Can we tell the others? Do you want them to come?”

“No,” mumbled Grantaire before taking one last deep breath and detangling himself from Enjolras, and curling upon himself on the other side of the couch. The roommates waited patiently. “I almost relapsed.”

“Almost? So you didn’t?”

“Is that the only thing that happened?” Enjolras asked gently.

“Yes. No. I can’t remember. Yes.”

Combeferre sighed in relief. “Message Éponine,” he muttered to Enjolras, who nodded and immediately started texting, before looking back at Grantaire. “Is it okay if we tell Éponine what you just told us?”

“Yes, yes. ‘Ponine worries a lot. Tell her.”

“It’s okay, R. Nothing happened; and even if it had, we can try again, right? Don’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do.”

“I was filling my last glass of the day, and I started craving it, so I came here. I’m sorry, ‘Ferre…” he started crying violently once again. Enjolras looked at Combeferre in alarm.

“Grantaire, listen to me: it’s normal, it happens, it doesn’t mean you’ve failed,” Grantaire heaves a harsh laugh at this. “Is that why you’re crying? Because you think you’ve failed?”

“I _know_ I fucking failed, Combeferre, because I just can’t do anything right. I thought I was doing well.”

“That’s not –”

“I’m so disappointed. I’m so disappointed. I failed,” his crying intensifies again and his words are almost indistinguishable. “I can’t do it. I should be able to do it. I was doing so well. _So well_.”

“You’re still doing very well.”

“Éponine is coming over,” Enjolras says as casually as he can manage.

“Yes, okay,” Grantaire sniffed one last time and Combeferre waited until his chest stopped heaving before walking to the kitchen and turning the kettle on. “Now, I’m gonna give you a Swiss Miss, you’re going to drink it, and we’re going to watch a movie. Deal?”

“And ‘Ponine?” he breathed slowly and concentrated on stopping his hands from trembling. He glanced at Enjolras and flushed profusely; he turned away and hid his face.

“‘Ponine will also have to drink chocolate and watch a movie. We all will.”

“Yes,” agreed Enjolras. “Do you want a blanket? Sweatshirt? What movie would you like to watch?”

The brunette’s flush intensified. “Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t even want to be here. I’m just embarrassing myself.”

“Come on, love, don’t cry.” Enjolras looked up at Combeferre sharply; the man just winced and mouthed ‘reflex’ back at him. “Let’s just watch The Lion King, yes?”

“Do you have The Phantom of The Opera?” Grantaire sniffed and raised his gaze at him from his place in the couch. Enjolras looked at Combeferre curiously, who shrugged back.

“Sorry, not a big fan of Gerard’s Phantom,” answered Combeferre carefully.

“The Anniversary presentation,” moaned Grantaire, “at the Royal Albert Hall. With Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Goddess.”

Enjolras couldn’t quite hold back his little snort at that. Combeferre smiled at him. “We do have it… but we lent it to the Jolys a month ago and they haven’t given it back.”

Grantaire sighed dramatically and curled right back into a ball at the edge of the sofa. “Then I suppose The Lion King will do.”

Enjolras grabbed the movie, eyed the man on his couch and walked to Combeferre in the kitchen. “He’s… not drunk,” he whispered. Combeferre leveled a glare at him. Enjolras tried to explain. “I mean, he didn’t drink more than he had to, so why was he crying?”

Combeferre seemed to get it and lightened his glare. “He thought he wouldn’t be strong enough to control it, so he fled. He’ll be alright.”

“Do we really have Phantom?”

“I do, yes. And I did lend it to Bossuet and ‘Chetta.”

“Huh.”

“Here, take this to R,” said Combeferre, handing him a white mug of hot chocolate. Enjolras walked back to the couch, handed Grantaire his hot chocolate, threw a blanket over him, and put the movie on.

“I’m sorry about this; I’m so embarrassed,” Grantaire mumbled, looking anywhere but at Enjolras.

“That’s what the chocolate’s for,” Combeferre padded to the living room carefully balancing two mugs for himself and Enjolras, “to make you feel better.” He handed a mug to Enjolras and sipped from his own. Enjolras started the movie and Grantaire stopped squirming in his seat between the two roommates, shifting his focus out of his body and to the screen. Enjolras saw this change and caught Combeferre’s eye. He nodded once. ‘Well done’, he seemed to say.

Fifteen minutes in, Éponine knocked twice on the door and let herself in before any of the boys could even turn to the entrance.

“R, R, babe, are you okay?” she asked softly, cradling Grantaire’s face in her hands. Grantaire smiled at her.

“I’m fine, ‘Ponine. I didn’t drink anything. You’re blocking the screen.”

“Yes, but are you okay? Don’t be sad, please?” she searched his face but found nothing.

“I’m not sad,” assured Grantaire, “but Mufasa hasn’t died yet.” Only then did she turn to look at the paused screen. She snorted, but looked at Combeferre and Enjolras with an expression of infinite gratitude and approval.

“There’s a hot chocolate for you in the counter, Éponine,” Combeferre said. “I can move to the floor and let you –”

“No, you’re good here,” Grantaire told him. “You’re strangely cuddly. I don’t think I ever saw you as the cuddly type. Who the fuck paused the fucking movie?”

Enjolras pressed play again with a smile and Éponine laughed again from the kitchen. “It’s alright, guys, I’ll sit on the sofa. I don’t really like to cuddle, anyways.” And so she did.

The rest of the movie was watched in complete silence. They left the credits on and watched the screen absentmindedly. Not even a minute in, Grantaire fell asleep on Enjolras’ shoulder. The three remaining ones looked at each other.

“He should sleep on a bed,” said Combeferre. “Should we wake him up?”

“Well, I don’t think any of us here can carry him,” admitted Enjolras.

“Not without waking him up, no,” Combeferre agreed.

“It’s okay to wake him up. He won’t even notice he’s awake and he’ll fall back asleep in a minute,” provided Éponine, pausing momentarily. “Do you mind if I stay here, too?”

“Not at all,” Enjolras replied automatically. “You can both take our beds –”

“We can share. We’ve shared before.”

Combeferre looked at her and saw the raw love in her eyes, and smiled. “My bed is bigger. I’ll sleep here.”

“Thank you, ‘Ferre,” she sighed.

“No problem.”

“Let’s wake him up, then,” Enjolras looked at the curls on his shoulder with a mix of fondness and curiosity. Éponine stood up and tugged at his hair.

“R, come on, let’s get you to a bed,” no reply. She poked his cheek a few times until he opened his eyes drowsily. “Up, up. We’re going to a mattress. Help me out.”

Grantaire stood up blearily and walked in the direction of the bedrooms. “It’s the last door down the hall,” Combeferre spoke and watched as both dark-haired friends entered the room.

“He’s going to be fine, right? I mean, he won’t give up just because this happened, or is he?” asked Enjolras, looking in the same direction as he.

“I don’t think so. He’s determined and strong, and in a good place right now.”

They stay silent for a while, and it’s strangely uncomfortable. Enjolras finally decides he’s had enough. “Well, goodnight. Hope you don’t wake up too sore.”

“Goodnight.”

 

The smell of coffee was so strong that it woke Enjolras up. He yawned and stretched for a minute before padding quietly to the kitchen. Grantaire was in his underclothes, watching the coffee maker groan and gurgle with his back to the entrance to the kitchen, leaning all his weight to his hands on the counter. Enjolras absentmindedly noted the way the undershirt stretched on his back muscles. He paused and waited for Grantaire to notice him. After a few seconds he took another step.

“Good morning.”

Grantaire jumped and turned around. “Hi,” he said before looking away again. The blond continued staring at Grantaire, who in turn was staring at the coffee. The silence was comfortable.

“Did you sleep well?”

“For a change,” answered Grantaire. “You?”

“Yeah, yeah…” he sat down on one of the chairs. “Listen, um, yesterday –”

“I’m fine. Shit happens, you know. I didn’t drink. I’m not quitting.”

“Right, that’s… yeah, good,” Enjolras looked down at his hands. The coffee maker gurgled one final time and beeped. Grantaire poured the black substance into two cups and offered one to Enjolras, who accepted it with a mumbled thank-you.

“Do you have any Splenda?”

“Yeah, drawer under the coffee maker.”

“Do you want some?”

“Two, please.”

Grantaire turned around, aghast. “You take two Splendas in your coffee? That’s disgusting. I’m only giving you one, and you can take the half I don’t use.”

“You only use half a packet? Gross,” Enjolras scrunches up his face and Grantaire sits down on another chair, slipping half a Splenda into his cup and handing the other half, and another packet, to the blond, who stretched on his seat to open the fridge and grab the milk. Grantaire looked at Enjolras prepare his elaborate and sickly sweet cup of coffee with something between amusement and disgust.

“That looks terrible.”

Enjolras looked up at him. “You should come more often.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I mean, your presence isn’t unpleasant.”

“Gee, thanks,” he rolled his eyes and Enjolras smiled.

“You know what I mean.”

“May I ask where this comes from?” he inquired casually as he stood up and browsed the cabinets for something to eat. “Where do you keep the cereal?”

“Cabinet on your right, next to the fridge,” he replied. “And to answer your question: I don’t know. You’re different.”

“How so?” he pressed. He served himself a full bowl of cereal and poured an excessive amount of milk into it.

“You don’t, er… I mean, your participations at the meetings are much more useful and valuable than before – I’m sot saying you weren’t, before; I’m saying you don’t say things purely out of scorn, or something. I don’t really know, you’re just different.”

“Oh.”

“So I don’t mind your company.”

“You’re just saying that now because I made you coffee.”

“I actually enjoy your company. Which is… unusual.”

Grantaire snorts. “Never thought I’d see the day, myself.”

“We should go somewhere,” Enjolras suggested, “a museum, or a park, or somewhere that’s not the Musain.”

Grantaire looked at him suspiciously over a spoonful of cereal. “Why?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Grantaire chewed, still looking at him skeptically, before shifting his gaze somewhere to the right of Enjolras’ head and smiling softly. “Good morning.” Enjolras looked over his shoulder to see Combeferre rubbing his eyes.

“Morning.”

“You want some coffee?”

“Please. Thank you,” he mumbled as he sat down on another chair. Grantaire poured him a cup and handed it to Combeferre, who sipped it as soon as it was in his hands. “Did you sleep well?”

“Grandly,” he took another spoonful into his mouth. “Thank you for letting us use your bed, by the way; you must feel like shit right now.”

Combeferre hummed. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“Éponine’s still sleeping?” Enjolras asked.

“No, she’s taking a shower. She has the morning shift today,” answered Grantaire. He looked at Combeferre, who was already looking back at him thoughtfully. “If you’re gonna talk about yesterday, don’t bother.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were looking at me like you wanted to say something,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t think it’ll happen again. I’m done with alcohol.”

“I really wasn’t going to say anything,” Combeferre soothed, “I know you’re fine.”

“So,” Enjolras said after he slurped a bit of coffee, “are you doing anything today?”

“I’m free,” Combeferre sighed in relief.

“As a bird,” complemented Grantaire. Hurried steps could be heard from Combeferre’s room and soon after, Éponine, hair dripping with water, walked into the kitchen, stealing Enjolras’ coffee and gulping down half of it in one go.

“Good morning. I gotta be off. Thanks for the coffee and for… everything else. Bye, R.”

“Have a good day.”

“That was my coffee.”

“See you later!” the door closed behind her.

“Her shift started ten minutes ago,” explained Grantaire. Enjolras stared at his half-empty cup with a pout. Grantaire laughed. “Don’t take it personally, Apollo; she hates black coffee.”

“What must I do for you to stop calling me that?”

“Stop getting all flustered and puffing like a bird every time I say it.” Combeferre laughed. Grantaire finished his cereal and raised his eyebrow at the pair. “So?”

Enjolras looked at Combeferre. “I asked Grantaire if he wanted to go somewhere,” he informed, and Combeferre raised his eyebrows, “maybe you could come with us?”

“You were planning on going alone?” Combeferre asked cautiously and shifted minutely in his seat.

“I didn’t even say yes, Blondie.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t you ever call me that again,” he said, his face pinched in frustration. “So, are you coming, ‘Ferre?”

“Yes,” Combeferre shot back automatically.

“Where to?”

“Hey, I don’t even have clean clothes. I have to go home and pick something up, if I’m gonna spend all day with you two.”

“Or you can just grab some of our clothes.”

“I am not doing that.”

“Where did you want to go, in the first place, Enjolras?”

The man in question shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m open to suggestions.”

Combeferre glanced at Grantaire. “We’ve been talking about going to the Louvre for a while?”

“Oh, right,” the brunet smiled and looked at Enjolras before speaking. “He hasn’t gone in, like, ten years, and I feel like it’s my duty to… Enjolras? Oh, god, not you, too.”

“Er,” Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who smirked. “I’ve only been there once.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Can you blame me? I got lost and decided I’d never come back.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Grantaire stood up. “Right, we’re going to the Louvre.”

The roommates looked at each other amusedly and stood up as well, Combeferre automatically heading to the shower, and Enjolras to tidy up his room.

 

 

Going to the Louvre with Grantaire was an intriguingly exciting experience. He would wax lyrical about his favorite artists, painters and sculptors, moving his arms around and getting this lost expression in his face, but then said a few non-committal lines about the classics. He glided on the floor if he liked what he saw, but walked briskly past Dali, hurrying the other two.

Combeferre made the occasional comment on the pieces he knew and gave his opinion on everything. Enjolras asked questions and tilted his head when looking at the sculptures, mentioning when he definitely didn’t understand the pieces.

They were on the French Art section, just after seeing Da Vinci’s wing, walking behind Grantaire, who sporadically looked over his shoulder at his friends as he talked about the beauty that is Van Gogh, when Enjolras stopped dead in his tracks.

“Grantaire…”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and turned around, to Combeferre, who was staring at him in something akin to awe. “I knew it.”

“What?” he replied dazedly.

“He found Liberty Leading the People. I’m sure we just passed Delacroix.”

Combeferre cracked a smile. They walked to where Enjolras was standing with his jaw slack. Surprisingly, it was not that particular painting he was staring at.

“I think I just found my favorite artist,” Enjolras murmured.

“That’s Delacroix.”

“Yeah, his name is under every painting.”

“That’s…” Combeferre looked at the painting, perplexed, “pretty dramatic.”

“Like I said, that’s Delacroix.”

“‘The Death of Sardanapalus’,” Enjolras mumbled. “Look at the attention to detail. It’s…”

“Dramatic?” Grantaire suggested. Enjolras nodded very slightly.

“The coloring…”

“Warm, dramatic, intense and realistic?” Grantaire smiled. “You like Delacroix. Like, actually like him, and not only Liberty Leading the People. I’m amazed! I think my job here is done.”

“That’s his?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire with wide eyes. “The Liberty one?”

“Er, yeah. I thought you knew.”

“Where is it? Why don’t I see it?” Enjolras looked around frantically. Grantaire laughed and pushed him to a small room next to the paintings he had been admiring.

“That’s all wild and dramatic Delacroix in there. Have a look.”

“Oh, my god,” Enjolras said, looking at the infamous painting, and Grantaire grinned. Combeferre looked at the Art major for a moment.

“Can we go see Monet?”

Grantaire turned to him, not losing the grin, and patted his shoulder. “I saved your favorite for last. You’ll love it. Renoir is right next to him.”

“I don’t know Renoir, to be honest.”

“You do; at least two of his paintings. You just don’t know the name.” They looked at Enjolras, whose left arm was stretched towards the painting as if in longing. “You okay there, Apollo?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” he walked to them with a ridiculously happy smile. “It looks better in real life.”

“Obviously. That’s why you don’t bypass the Louvre,” Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Well, now that you’ve found who your baby is, we’re gonna look for Ferre’s.”

“My baby?”

“Delacroix,” Combeferre smiles. “We’re going to see Monet now. This is exciting.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Grantaire sniffs theatrically before taking both their arms and dragging them forward. “No, but really, I’m really happy you’re liking the place.”

The other two smiled to themselves. They walked for what seemed to them like kilometers before Grantaire stopped near a large mural.

“Monet,” Grantaire announces proudly. Combeferre practically sprinted forward to look at every single painting, Monet or not. Enjolras paced around Grantaire, not really looking at anything. Grantaire observed him. “Are you bored or are you just positive that nothing can top Delacroix?”

“The second one,” Enjolras smiled and looked at him fully. “I’m impressed.”

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t. It _is_ the Louvre.”

“Not by the art – I mean, _yes_ , by the art, of course – but mostly by you,” he crossed his arms sheepishly and Grantaire looked at him curiously. “You’re kind of brilliant.”

The man shrugged. “I had to be good at something. Art is my thing, you know. Plus, I’ve come here enough times to know the tour by heart.”

“I really am impressed. Not surprised, but yeah…”

“Thanks,” he smiled faintly and looked at a random painting. “Come on, let’s find Combeferre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will be better, I promise. It should be uploaded next Wednesday/Thursday, depending on the amount of school things I have to do. Thank you for reading!  
> Also, I need your opinion: aye porn, or nay porn?


	4. Forget the Reckless Things We've Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While planning the first of their bi-annual events at the Musain, Grantaire's opinions are taken into consideration, for a change. Enjolras doesn't know what he's doing. Combeferre thinks he knows what's wrong with the situation. Grantaire is both too oblivious and too perceptive.  
> Nobody is positively certain of what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is! Chapter four! I hope you like it. The next chapter is my favorite, and I can't wait to post it.
> 
> Title comes from "Falling Away With You", by Muse.

The meeting was going grandly. The first of their two yearly rallies was going to be perfect. Enjolras was ecstatic.

“Now we just have to talk to the police and make sure they provide security,” Marius said.

“Are you kidding me? The police are mad; they’ll do more harm than good.”

“Courf, we need security,” said Jehan. “People won’t come if you don’t guarantee safety.”

“Remember when a protest turned into a full-blown riot that time?”

“That was two years ago,” Bossuet placated, “and to be honest, we weren’t being too well-behaved.”

“We know better now,” Joly squished his boyfriend’s hand like a stress ball, making the both of them smile. “Maybe we should have an ambulance or two on call?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Jehan told him. “We’re planning this rally so it’s as peaceful as possible.”

“It’s more fun when the people get all excited and start shouting together,” Bahorel said and Feuilly nodded next to him. “I still think this will be just a little bit too on the quiet side. People don’t listen when things are said nicely.”

“I beg to differ,” Enjolras finally intervened.

“Everything said in any way can be listened to, if designed correctly,” Combeferre agreed.

“I don’t agree,” Grantaire shifted his gaze between Enjolras and Combeferre, his hands wrapped around a hot mug of hot chocolate. The two of them looked at him. “Sure, there will be people to listen, but you don’t invoke change with pleasantry.”

“How do you invoke change, then?”

“I’m not finished,” he held up a finger. “Many people go to your rallies just for the sake of it, without meaning anything with their presence. I daresay, most people don’t really expect things to change just because there was a rally,” he twisted his mouth in thought. “Your job is to convince them to expect a difference. You have to, well, turn them on, for lack of a better word.”

“You may be right about that,” Enjolras leaned in.

“I am.”

“But I know that people, once there, will listen. I’m not going to group them together and tell them to write letters to the governor like some kind of school activity –”

“I’m not saying you will,” interrupted Grantaire. Enjolras held his tongue. “What I’m saying is that every speech is like a PowerPoint presentation. Put too many words in a slide and people will turn away and ignore it. You have to put pretty pictures, not too much information, make it interesting and colorful.”

“Exactly!” Bahorel said loudly. Enjolras squirmed in his seat.

“But that’s not the kind of rally we’re planning this time,” Combeferre pointed out.

“That’s the kind of rally you’ve always done, and they’re always successful.”

“So you’d rather us do the same thing over and over again, and never try to innovate?” Enjolras raised an eyebrow in defiance. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Your concept of innovation is very different than mine, it seems,” he said and leaned in. “Innovation is not the same as change. You’re trying to change what you do, to a tactic that I’m fully convinced won’t be as successful. Innovation is taking something that works, and making it better.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for a change.”

“I’m on R’s side.”

“Yes, we get it, Bahorel,” Jehan smiled to him.

“I still think the people will listen, even if there’s not that much adrenaline involved,” Combeferre said. “We just have to plan everything very well so it goes along smoothly, and so the speech is delivered exactly how it must be delivered.”

“I get it, ‘Ferre,” Grantaire continued, “but I have to warn you not expect anything from the people.”

“That’s very pessimistic,” Feuilly frowned, “but I know what you mean.”

Grantaire smiled at him. “Yeah, like, maybe half the people will listen to you if you use pretty words and speak calmly, but the other half won’t get into it just with words, maybe because they’re people of action, or maybe because they need convincing that they can make a difference. None of that is achieved by talking. Convincing takes conviction and energy.”

Combeferre looked at Enjolras, who was resting his elbows on the table, hands pressed together. The leader spoke cautiously. “And what would you suggest to make the rally more energetic, without resourcing to shouts?”

There were a few raised eyebrows; Grantaire’s included. He cleared his throat. “Like I said: pretty pictures, few words, a cool design.”

“This is not a PowerPoint presentation, Grantaire.”

“If you want to make it completely peaceful, but still interesting, you can’t just take your presence. It’s like trying to entertain a kid by reading a boring book. Maybe, I don’t know, banners? Banners, flags, signs with catchy phrases, white shirts and Sharpie markers… I don’t know; eye-catching stuff.”

They stayed silent for a moment. “He has a point,” Combeferre noted, looking at Enjolras again.

“I’ve always wanted to hold a sign at a protest,” Jehan said excitedly.

“We could even make a stage?” Marius propositioned and Courfeyrac grinned at him.

“Yes! And at the end of the speech, maybe people could get up and talk.”

“I know a guy who works at this T-Shirt store,” Feuilly adds. “I could get them real cheap.”

“I think that’s brilliant,” Joly joined in. “That would keep the rally interactive, instead of the people just standing there and listening.”

“I always thought we needed more color,” Bossuet grinned.

Enjolras looked at everyone in turn as they talked before looking at Grantaire with a smile. “You win. Not trusting the people is the way to go.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. And you’re smiling. Something’s wrong. Or maybe you’ve just finally seen the light,” Grantaire teased.

“Well, then, we have to start planning all that stuff,” Combeferre cut in, but instead of groaning, the group just complied cheerfully and started shooting suggestions across the table. Enjolras was still smiling at him. He smiled back and raised his mug at the leader before looking at Combeferre and making his own suggestion.

 

With each following meeting, Grantaire’s opinion and input became more and more sought by every member of the group. Enjolras paused after saying things he was sure Grantaire would disagree with, Combeferre would explicitly ask for his opinion, Courfeyrac would have conversations across the table with him about things other than their social lives, and his closest friends would pat him in the back proudly. Éponine smiled at him more. It was easier to forget all about alcohol when his presence was being so incredibly valued; even more than it was before.

 

Enjolras beseeched him to sit closer when they started discussing the art for the rally, which was scheduled for the next month.

“R, could you make a few designs for the banners?”

Grantaire opened and closed his mouth two or three times before nodding. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

Enjolras grinned. “Thank you,” he said, before looking at his computer screen pointedly again and only opening his mouth after a minute. “I was wondering if you could come over to mine sometime tomorrow to look at what I’ve written of the speech so far. You know, to point out… stuff.”

“Or you could just send it to me and I can reply with my valuable observations. That’s what the Internet was invented for.”

Enjolras blinked. “Oh, that’s right. Well, I think that can wait a little bit longer.”

“Maybe you should finish your draft first, and then submit it for revision,” he smirked.

Enjolras looked up, amused. “‘Submit my draft for revision?’ You’re taking yourself too seriously.”

“I’m not the one who actively asked for my priceless –”

“Only because you can’t,” Enjolras chuckled. Combeferre kneeled between them out of the blue.

“What are you talking about?”

“Apollo wants me to correct his whole speech.”

Enjolras laughed. “I was asking him to look it over once it’s finished.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Combeferre, looking at Enjolras intently. The man looked up at him in question.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey,” Grantaire smiled, “d’you mind if ‘Ponine and I crash at yours tonight to watch Inception? I bought the Blu-ray for, like, five dollars, from a friend, but I realized I have no Blu-ray player or home theater to watch it, and your TV is pretty big… you could watch it with us.”

“Sure,” Combeferre answered, still glancing at Enjolras every few seconds. “I think everyone should come over.”

“The whole gang?”

“We are not a gang, Grantaire,” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, we are,” he answered before standing up and walking to where the rest of the group was huddled around Courfeyrac, presumably watching something stupid video on his phone. He perched himself on the table, legs swinging. Combeferre and Enjolras watched the scene with interest.

“You like him, don’t you?” asked Combeferre, stepping on eggshells. Enjolras didn’t even turn to him.

“He’s surprisingly good company.”

“But… you know what I mean, Enjolras,” Combeferre sighed. “Do you?”

Enjolras turned to him and blushed a deep red. “I definitely do not. I’m just finding myself enjoying his friendship. Why does everyone mistake niceness with romantic interest? It’s just like the friendzone.”

“I was just asking; no need to get all fussed up,” he replied, voice less careful than before. “You’re just different with him, is all.”

“Well, of course. I enjoy his company now and I didn’t, before.”

“Right, right.”

The entirety of their friends ran like a stampede to them. Feuilly kissed Combeferre’s cheek, the victim blushing accordingly.

“R told us we’re watching Inception at yours tonight. I love you. I’ve waited _ages_ to see that movie!”

“Can you believe him?” Courfeyrac asked, his chin resting on Jehan’s shoulder. “He hasn’t seen Inception. I’m not sure that’s not a sin.”

“Capital sin,” complements Bahorel. “That movie is fucking epic. And Marion Cotillard is crazy. And hot.”

“I’d rather stare at Joseph Gordon-Levitt, myself,” Courfeyrac grinned and Grantaire high-fived him.

“Well, I think Ellen Page is adorable,” pouted Jehan. “Nobody ever says that.”

“Because you’re the only one who thinks so, darling.”

“Am not!”

“I agree with him,” Joly smiles at Jehan reassuringly. “She’s very lovely.”

“Thank you, Joly. Yet another proof that your taste in women is impeccable.”

“‘Chetta is not a woman, she’s a goddess,” Bahorel smiled good-naturedly.

“Marius keeps missing the cool meetings,” bemoaned Courfeyrac. “We two have been meaning to watch Inception for ages, but we forget, and when we get the chance, he’s out with his perfect girlfriend.”

“And Éponine,” Grantaire pointed out.

“Really? How’s that possible?”

“Cosette desperately wants to be her friend,” he smiled sadly. “It’s sad. The girl is perfectly lovely, and I’m sure ‘Ponine would love her, if the situation was… different.”

“I’m sure she’ll come round,” smiled Combeferre. “She always seems to do.” Grantaire nodded.

“Let’s get going, then,” Courfeyrac started walking to the stairs. “Oh, I can’t wait. Bless you, R. They have the best surround sound.”

Everyone followed him and soon they were all sprawled on the floor, tossing popcorn to each other, mouthing along to the lines.

 

 

 

Next Wednesday, Enjolras found himself dialing Grantaire’s mobile, not knowing how he got there, but it was too late to hang up now.

“Apollo?” asked a confused Grantaire.

“It’s Enjolras,” he corrected automatically, not even annoyed at the nickname anymore.

“Fine: Enjolras.”

“Hi.”

“Um, hi.” Neither of them said anything for a while. “So, um, did Combeferre tell you to send a message, or something?”

“No.”

“Oh.” There was more silence. “So…”

“Can you come over?” he asked. He really wasn’t sure of what he was doing and his face was proof of this. He was and looked as stunned as Grantaire sounded.

“Now?” Grantaire said hesitantly.

“Are you busy? I’m sorry.”

“I… yeah, I actually am. I’m packed until next week.”

“Come next week,” Enjolras cleared his throat. “To… read the speech for the rally.” He winced at himself. That was bad. It was bad, wasn’t it? And now he would actually have to finish writing the speech in a few days. Perfect.

“Um, sure,” said Grantaire. “I can on Tuesday, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yes. Yes, perfect,” Enjolras’ mind was blank. “Thanks.”

“Right.”

“Are you going to the meting tomorrow?”

“Can’t. Impromptu lecture.”

“Ah, sure,” Enjolras cleared his throat again.

“Are you sick?” Grantaire sounded concerned.

“No, no; I’m thirsty, is all,” he blushed. “See you next week, then.”

“Yeah, bye, Apollo.” Grantaire hung up. Enjolras stared blankly at the wall before walking the rest of the way to the kitchen, which was the original plan.

 

 

 

Combeferre and Grantaire had met at the library mid-morning that Sunday. They’d been helping each other out with their homework for the majority of the day in that hidden corner, so they could talk in peace. Combeferre was typing madly on his laptop while Grantaire grumbled and scratched his head as he alternated between reading from the tome in the table and writing on the damned sheet. Combeferre sighed loudly and stretched in his seat.

“Tired?” Grantaire mumbled.

“Nah, I just need a brake.”

“And coffee.”

“And possibly a cup of coffee, yes.”

“We could go for one, if you want,” Grantaire looked up at him. “I could also use with a break.”

“Have you finished your questionnaire?”

“No… yes, I don’t know. The questions are ambiguous and tricky, and the possible answers are all alike.”

“Let me take a look?”

Grantaire laughed softly. “I don’t think you’ll know any of these.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “Try me.” Grantaire smiled and shook his head, passing his questionnaire to his friend. He scanned each question and chewed it for a minute, before giving up and passing to the next one. Grantaire watched from his seat, clearly amused, arms crossed and posture lazy. It was almost seven minutes later when Combeferre looked up. “I don’t know any of these.”

Grantaire grinned and rolled his eyes. “Told you,” he took his paper back and rubbed his eyes. “Stupid fucking professor.”

Combeferre chuckled. “Wanna take a look at mine?”

“But you’re doing an essay, I can’t help you with that.”

“Well, then, just read it and tell me if you think there’s something wrong.”

Grantaire leaned into Combeferre’s space and scanned the essay quickly. “What class is this for?”

“Cognitive Functions.”

The brunet looked at him. “You have a class named Cognitive Functions?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my god…” he mumbled, before properly starting to read. He understood half of what was being said. “I really don’t know what you mean by ‘Judging’. You use it a lot.”

“Yeah, well, this essay is specifically about the Judging cognitive function.”

“I’m gonna pretend I understand that and nod obediently,” Grantaire replied, and Combeferre snorted. He continued reading, and leaned further against Combeferre to get more comfortable. He felt the other man heat up quickly, and looked up curiously. “You are very warm,” he said. Combeferre blushed. “I told you less than an hour ago: it’s not ethical to wear sweaters indoors.”

“It’s not that,” Combeferre said quietly, immediately cursing himself in his mind. Grantaire caught on and lifted his hand from the computer mouse, raising his eyebrows at him before frowning very slightly, scrutinizing.

“What do you mean?”

Combeferre shifted in his seat, accidentally knocking their knees together, making him flush further. “I think you know perfectly well what I mean,” he said as naturally as he could. The effect was somewhat ruined by his blush. Grantaire just looked at him, unwavering; his eyes shifting across his face. Combeferre met his gaze levelly. They waited for the other to do something; make it or break it.

After a few seconds, Combeferre dropped his gaze to Grantaire’s stubble, and then turned his head back to his computer. His breaths were ineffective and stuttered.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Grantaire looked at him for a moment longer before shifting back to his seat. Whose thigh felt colder, a mystery. They looked straight ahead and said nothing, be it for tension, or regret, but it wasn’t one of those easy silences they were used to having. Combeferre fiddled with the hem of his sleeves.

“Why?” Grantaire asked after a moment, monotone. Combeferre felt his chest tighten. He didn’t answer, so after a while, Grantaire looked down and continued with his work. Combeferre looked intently at his keyboard, but when he finally gave up and acknowledged that he wouldn’t be able to do the same as Grantaire, he spoke quietly.

“Enjolras.”

Grantaire stopped writing and set the pen down. “What?”

“You’re in love with Enjolras,” he explained just as quietly. He saw the other man’s jaw clench.

“How many times must I say it for you to get it into your head?” he spoke tersely, “I don’t love him anymore. It’s not going anywhere. I’m quitting alcohol; I’m quitting Enjolras. Can’t you see?”

“‘Not going anywhere’, ‘quitting’,” Combeferre turned to him with a sad expression on his face. “Present tense.”

“Present tense, past tense, fucking whatever tense. It’s not like that.”

“I get it, R. It’s okay,” he shrugged weakly. “And even if you weren’t still in love with him, do you even like me? Would it have meant something to you, if I had… kissed you?”

Grantaire’s eyebrows pinched together. “Combeferre –”

“Because I don’t think I could live with that, to be honest. I couldn’t fool myself into thinking I’d be perfectly happy to kiss you, even if it didn’t mean much to you. I couldn’t… I’m not that strong,” Combeferre closed his laptop and stood up. “I’m sorry. We should forget about this.”

Grantaire stood up as well, but Combeferre ignored whatever came out of his mouth. The brunet could only watch him walk away with a sinking feeling in his stomach. After a minute of standing there, motionless and confused, he looked down and saw Combeferre’s bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I really want to write a genderqueer character. Genderfluid, to be a little more specific. I'm not sure I could write a non-binary character well, since I'm a cis girl. Anyways, would you guys mind if I included a Genderqueer Feuilly? Or Jehan? One of those two.


	5. The One Who Challenged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an eventful Sunday and a stressful Monday full of avoidance, Tuesday afternoon brings Grantaire to Combeferre and Enjolras' apartment to revise the speech, as was appointed last week's Wednesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! This was suuuuch a great chapter to write. It's my favorite so far; I hope you like it as well!:D I'll kind of need feedback on the contents of this, because I'm shit at this kind of thing, and I hope I did it correctly, so, yeah, feedback would be appreciated!  
> This was actually 500+ words longer, but to keep it in line with the rest of the chapters, I decided to split it, so I'm sorry for the ending.
> 
> Title comes from "Unintended", by Muse. Can you tell I like Muse? I'm sorry. I promise I'll stop with the Muse titles.

Enjolras had been watching Combeferre struggle to do any schoolwork for almost two days now. He had been worried the day before, but right now it was Tuesday, and he had more important things to worry about, like Grantaire coming over in two hours, if the text he’d just received was accurate. He started pacing around the apartment, picking up anything out of place and hiding it. He scratched the back of his head and mussed his curls when he felt particularly nervous for a few seconds. Combeferre looked up from his beloved laptop and observed him.

“Anything the matter?” asked Combeferre curiously.

“I just want this place to be clean,” Enjolras muttered. “Where did all this crap come from, in the first place?” he asked himself as he picked up crayons from within the couch. Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

“Something’s going on. Why are you cleaning the couch?”

“Nothing’s going on,” he said as he polished the coffee table with his forearm and then looked at the fabric with disdain. “By the way, Grantaire is coming over.” Combeferre froze, but Enjolras was too focused on his forearm to notice.

“When? Why?”

“Two hours. I wanted him to look at the speech. He said he has your bag with all your stuff.”

“Oh, thanks,” he responds. “Well, I’m going to Jehan’s. He has a few of the same books I use.”

“You could just stay here. R will bring your things over.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can wait,” Combeferre stood up, before looking at the blissfully oblivious Enjolras again. “And why are you cleaning the apartment?”

Enjolras finally turned to him. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do once he’s here. I don’t even know why I asked him to come. I don’t know why I actually _want_ him to come. Well, I _do_ , obviously, but I’ve never…”

Combeferre looked at him hesitantly and licked his lips before taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. “You could’ve sent him the speech by email.”

“I’d rather see him,” Enjolras explained, before smoothing his expression again. “I’ve never done this before…” Combeferre observed him with a blank expression, scratched his jaw and stood up.

“Well, I’m leaving now,” he said emotionlessly. “Tell him I said hi.” With that, he grabbed his laptop and walked out the door. Enjolras didn’t even notice in his distraction.

 

Grantaire knocked on the door once before the door was opened quickly, stunning him. “Hi.”

“Grantaire, thank you for coming,” Enjolras stepped aside and held the door open for him. “Come on in, come on in,” he said rapidly as the brunet walked inside. “Do you want anything to drink? Water, milk, juice, chocolate, coffee, soda, or any combination of those?”

“Er, no, thank you,” he half-stated, half-asked. He looked around and opened his ears to any sound other than Enjolras’ strangely chirpy voice. “Is Combeferre not here?”

“No,” replied the blond, pushing a glass of soda to the hands of a bemused Grantaire, “he’s at Jehan’s.”

“Oh, well,” he said and he motioned to the bag he’d left on the floor close to the door. “I thought he’d want his things back as soon as possible.”

“He’ll come back soon enough,” he raked his eyes down Grantaire’s back as the man walked to the couch and flopped down.

“So where’s the speech?”

“In my computer.”

“Okay, right.”

Enjolras grabbed his computer and walked to sit next to Grantaire. “I actually feel really good about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Not sure why I even asked you to read it, when it’s so good already.”

Grantaire relaxed and laughed at him. “You sound way too sure of yourself.”

“Which is why you’re here,” teased Enjolras, making Grantaire laugh again.

“Which is why I’m here.”

Enjolras opened the document and started reading it to him, occasionally looking up to see Grantaire’s facial expressions. The man occasionally raised his left eyebrow, or frowned and hummed, but didn’t interrupt.

When he was finished, he set his laptop on the coffee table and looked at Grantaire expectantly. The brunet just stared at him for a moment before looking down at his watch.

“Eight minutes,” he said and looked up again. “Eight minutes of you talking, and I couldn’t find anything worth correcting,” he sounded impressed. Enjolras smiled smugly, and stared, inspecting his face closely. Grantaire frowned at him slightly. “What?”

“I realized something this weekend,” he replied simply. “I don’t know what to think about it.”

“Okay,” Grantaire was still frowning. “I don’t think I can help you if you don’t know what you think about it. If you even wanted help, that is.”

“Sorry; my bad,” he corrected, “I know what I think about it, I just don’t know if I’ll do anything about it.”

Grantaire looked utterly lost, and Enjolras was beginning to look a little amused. “What are we talking about here? I honestly don’t know what you’re saying. Should I know what you’re referring to? Is it something for the rally?” he waited for an explanation, but Enjolras just continued staring. “You’re starting to freak me out.”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” asked Enjolras. Grantaire blinked blankly. “I want to go out with you.”

“What?” he replied nervously.

“Do you need me to repeat it?”

“Oh, my god.”

After another few seconds without an actual reply, Enjolras nodded once and steeled himself, and he shuffled closer to Grantaire, who sprang up and away from the couch instantly. Enjolras stood up as well and walked forward when Grantaire started backing up.

“Whoa, no. Enjolras –” he stumbled when his foot hit a chair, and hit his hip with the edge of the table. “Shit,” he looked over his shoulder at the table and walked backwards around it. “What are you doing?”

Enjolras’ stride widened and he trapped Grantaire in the corner where wall met kitchen counter. He looked determinedly all over the brunet’s alarmed face. Grantaire raised his hands to Enjolras’ shoulders and stopped him there, a mere fifteen inches away. The blond didn’t put up a fight, but he didn’t break his staring.

“Enjolras, stop,” Grantaire said between harsh breaths. “Consent. Consent is important. Aren’t you the one who usually says that?”

“I’m not going to do anything without your permission,” responded Enjolras, his voice sounding unnatural even to him. Grantaire’s expression grew pained and he chuckled nervously.

“Really? Because I’m kind of trapped here.”

“I just want to know if you’d like to go out sometime, with me. A few times,” Enjolras would’ve been lying if he said the situation wasn’t turning him on. It showed plainly in his voice.

“I don’t think that’s the message I’m getting right now.”

“And then maybe consent to do something else when you felt like it. Something more physical, I mean.”

Grantaire looked absolutely horrified. “How are you doing this? I thought you’d be super awkward about it.”

“So you’ve thought about it?” Enjolras took one step closer at this, and Grantaire, even after he struggled backwards as far as he could go, found himself toe to toe with the blond.

“I _would’ve_ thought. _Would_ have,” Grantaire scrambled to correct. He licked his lips and didn’t miss the way the other’s eyes darted to his mouth. He didn’t have time to feel the little whine bubbling up before it came out, uncalled for. His hands were still on Enjolras’ shoulders, but they weren’t pushing away anymore, in his shock – to be honest, he didn’t feel his arms at all. Enjolras glanced up from his lips again to the sound, looking outright _pleased_ , and the trapped man couldn’t help but to let out another small, pained whine.

Enjolras’ eyes shone brightly, but his face turned serious for a second. “Do I have your consent? Do you permit it?”

Grantaire’s hands clenched into fists upon the blond’s shoulders as shook his head quickly from side to side with fervor. “Yes,” _no._ “Yes,” _no!_ , his head stopped moving. “What the hell: _yes_.”

He couldn’t even look at Enjolras’ expression before he was attacked by the man’s vicious kiss and hands, which usually looked so gentle, but were now fisting his hair. He didn’t waste a second and kissed back automatically. There was nothing gentle about the situation; like they both thought they were doing an illicit activity, and blamed the other for it: rough, uncoordinated, biting and exhilarating. Grantaire’s tongue darted forward to Enjolras’ lip, unbidden, and Enjolras responded by pressing forward and pinning Grantaire’s hips with his own. The latter let out a breath at the way Enjolras’ hipbones felt even with four layers of clothing separating them.

“Shit,” he gasped out. Enjolras bit his lip before pulling at his hair, tilting his head back a little, and breathed hotly over his neck. He heaved out a laugh. “Shit, no. This is not something I should be doing,” he grinned and enjoyed the feeling of Enjolras mouthing at his neck hungrily for a few moments, until he started realizing exactly what was going on. His manic smile had started faltering a little and his eyes focusing, when the blond bit down on the fleshy muscle connecting neck with shoulder and sucked. He groaned, clenched his eyes shut, and let his head fall back and to the side, giving Enjolras more space. “Shit, shit, shit, sh… shi…” he pushed the other’s shirt up and felt up the taut stomach. Enjolras squirmed against his hands and moaned, making Grantaire see colors.

“Do you want,” Enjolras strained to speak, “to go… take this somewhere more comfortable?”

Grantaire didn’t answer, but a minute later they were tripping onto a bed, scrambling for the other and scrambling for control. Enjolras managed to roll on top of Grantaire and straddled his waist with his knees. He grinned in victory and took off his shirt, throwing it in the general direction of his drawer. He took Grantaire’s hands and placed them under his chest and above his abdomen, where Grantaire had explored before. Grantaire caught on, and pressed hard just when Enjolras ground down on his crotch. He cursed internally, and watched as Enjolras’ eyes clenched shut, his mouth opened with a gasp, and his head lolled back.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s good,” the blond breathed out. Grantaire’s heart thumped painfully. Enjolras recovered and ground down again; this time, Grantaire circled his own hips upwards. A rough sound tore out of Enjolras’ chest. “ _Fuck_ ,” the word rolled slowly in his mouth. “It’s been so long…” he let go of Grantaire’s hands, still under his chest, and leaned forward to place each hand on either side of Grantaire’s head, so they were face to face, Enjolras hovering over him. Grantaire was breathing harshly through his nose and stared at Enjolras with stars in his wide-open eyes; Enjolras was openly panting, pupils blown wide but half unseeing, and his hair already a wild mess.

“Gods,” Grantaire breathed out. His hands moved to support Enjolras’ hips. The blond ground down again and Grantaire’s hips jerked up. Enjolras’ arms couldn’t hold his weight, so he leaned further down and rested his forehead right next to the other’s head, where they both could hear every catching breath and silent gasp.

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras clawing at his shirt. “Grantaire, your shirt. Please. Skin, skin, skin, skin,” he muttered as he scratched over his covered chest. Grantaire pushed him away and struggled with his shirt for a moment before surging forward and kissing Enjolras again, burying his hands in the disheveled tangles of blond hair. Enjolras rubbed himself against Grantaire’s front and keened. Grantaire pushed him to his back and followed him down, so their heads were now at the foot of the bed and Grantaire was on top.

“What are we doing?” Grantaire asked when he finally broke the kiss. Enjolras opened his eyes and searched his face, and replied while running his hands up and down his muscled back.

“You’re brilliant, you’re smart, and brilliant, and beautiful,” he said in a rush, “and I want to see more of you.”

“But this –”

“And I’m not very good with emotions, so only this weekend did I realize what it means, all the things you… make me feel.”

“I don’t think this is prudent,” Grantaire said. “I’m sure I will embarrass myself.”

Enjolras kissed him before joking: “We could close the door so nobody else sees.”

Grantaire froze. “Combeferre.”

“I told you, he’s with Jehan,” his hands slithered into Grantaire’s back pockets, and he grinned. Grantaire didn’t; instead, he clambered away from Enjolras. “R?”

Grantaire’s appalled expression was in juxtaposition with his flushed skin and short breath. Enjolras stood up and tried to reach his hand, but Grantaire clearly didn’t want to be touched, so he paused. “No; I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Enjolras asked weakly. “Are you not comfortable? We don’t have to do anything today. Maybe some other time, in a few weeks or whenever you –”

“No, Enjolras; you don’t get it,” Grantaire got off the bed slowly, conscious of every movement, “I’m supposed to be over you. I can’t do this. I don’t want to go back to it.”

“Over me?”

“Oh, cut the crap, you know how I… felt about you,” he looked away. Enjolras was frozen in place, but before he could open his mouth, Grantaire sighed with defeat. “Pass me my shirt?”

Enjolras looked around him and saw the plain grey shirt at the very edge of the bed. He took it and instead of tossing it to him, he offered it in his hand. Grantaire hesitated for a moment before reaching for it and turning back to put it on. Enjolras sat bemused and still panting, nervous and lost. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Apollo,” Grantaire said in a tired voice. Enjolras looked down at the sound of the nickname. “It’s not you;” he chuckled, “it’s me.”

“You don’t have to go,” he said as Grantaire walked out of the room. The man rubbed his eyes.

“I think I do.”

“But I’ll see you soon, then?” he followed him all the way to the door.

“I suppose. We’ll see.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras put his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, and didn’t miss the way his muscle tensed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I understand why you don’t…” he didn’t finish.

“No, you don’t get it,” Said Grantaire, glancing at him briefly. “Forget about it. You’ll forget about it soon.”

“Forget about this? How can I forget about this?” Enjolras shot back. “Do you think this was some –” he cut himself short and drew a lungful of air, closing his eyes and breathing out. “I’m sorry. See you soon.”

Grantaire looked at him and ran his hand through his face in frustration. “What am I doing?” he asked himself before walking out, feeling a creeping terror when his gaze passed Combeferre’s bag. He craved a drink for reasons he hadn’t had in months, but he couldn’t call Combeferre right now; kind, helpful Combeferre, who would help him through it. He couldn’t, so he opened his phone and called Feuilly.

 

 

Combeferre unlocked the door calmly and closed it behind himself in the same manner. He didn’t expect Enjolras to be awake, sitting on the couch, and he certainly didn’t expect to see him looking at him so… expectantly. He walked cautiously to the sofa and noticed his messenger bag on the floor. He sat down and waited.

Enjolras had had a lot of time to think about the day’s occurrences – six hours, actually, since it was now one in the morning – but wasn’t able to come to any conclusions. Hence, he recurred to Combeferre: kind, helpful Combeferre. “Do you think Grantaire ever harbored… feelings for me?” he asked after almost two minutes of silence.

Combeferre’s posture crumbled. _So this was it, then_. “Yes.”

“Hmm… do you know this for sure?”

“Yes.”

Enjolras looked down at his feet and stayed silent while he processed the confirmation. He then spoke hesitantly: “Since when? How long, I mean. I think he doesn’t feel like that anymore.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He told me,” he said. Combeferre looked up sharply. “Sort of.”

“May I ask what conversation you were having when he mentioned that?”

Enjolras blushed and, really, that should’ve been Combeferre’s sign to change the topic. “We were… in bed,” he said slowly, “and then he was not.”

It was possible Combeferre’s heart skipped one or two beats. He took a few steadying breaths and swallowed before he felt good enough to speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!:D Let me know what you think.  
> As to where this story is going, I have literally no idea. I can't tell how many more chapters are left, to be honest; I'm rolling with it. Next chapter should come either next Monday, or Tuesday.  
> Have a good day/evening/night!


	6. How Much a Fool Can Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After consulting with his best friend, Enjolras decides to speak with Grantaire. He wants to sort this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most filling filler chapter you shall ever read in your life, and for that I apologize, but I needed to deal with Enjolras' feelings. Next chapter will be better. Promise. I know this one is terrible.
> 
> Title comes from "Just Say I Love Him", by Nina Simone.  
> Can also alternatively be called "Spot All the References"(x Sorry, references are SO fun.

“So you invited him here to check your speech, and then proceeded to have sex?” Combeferre asked as calmly as he could.

“We didn’t. Have sex. It was just, um, kissing, and, um…” he blushed again, but sobered up in a second. “But then he got up and said that he couldn’t, and when I asked him why – because if it was something about no previous date, well, I would’ve easily understood and – I mean, I would’ve _waited_ – but he said it was because he was… ‘no longer’ interested in me.”

Combeferre was a in a whirlpool of mixed feelings and emotions. He was devastated because he had been right, and even while he knew he was right beforehand, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, this confirmation. He was devastated because Enjolras’ feelings were honest and in the best of interests. He was devastated because he couldn’t simply tell his best friend to leave it, and he couldn’t simply tell him to go through with it.

If he didn’t help make both Grantaire and his best friend happy, he would be condemned. If he didn’t speak and instead used this opportunity to his advantage, he would be damned.

“Are you alright? ‘Ferre?” called Enjolras softly. He looked up from his hunched position he wasn’t aware of to see an openly worried and vulnerable face.

For the greater good. “Ask him out,” he said. “Let him fall in love with you again. I don’t think he’s completely over you, so it shouldn’t be hard for him to see.”

This seemed to genuinely ease Enjolras’ mind. Only after seeing his friend’s happy smile did he feel the full weight of his actions. His body felt heavy; one half of his mind was stony silent and therefore loud and persistent against the rational part of his mind that kept repeating it was the right thing to do.

“I’m going to bed,” he said. His voice sounded normal, which usually was something he prized himself for, but right now only added to the pain: not only would he encourage the situation, he would also have to pretend.

He stood up, walked to his room, and sat on his bed, his back giving up as soon as he was there, back to his hunched defeat.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t even sad. He was mourning.

 

 

Feuilly knocked on the door – which was ridiculous: it was _his_ bedroom, after all. “R, I need to come in,” he said, making sure the towel didn’t fall from his armpits.

Grantaire opened the door with an amused expression. “It’s your room; you can come in whenever you want.”

“Maybe you were sleeping,” he clarified and walked to his small drawers, looking for his favorite boxers.

“I borrowed your Hufflepuff boxers.”

“What? Why? You’re not even a Hufflepuff!” Feuilly turned around, horrified. Grantaire shrugged.

“I didn’t have any clean underwear in me when I came.”

“Grantaire!” he whined. “I was looking for those. Specifically those.”

“Sorry. I can give them back?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” he scrunched up his nose. “Just because I let you sleep here for _one night_ doesn’t give you the right to steal my underwear.”

“I also used your deodorant –”

“Which one?”

“– and your perfume. And I tried on a bra.”

“So that’s why the room smells of fruits,” he said as he uncapped his deodorant and applied it generously. “Please don’t try my bras on; you’ll stretch them.”

“I’m not that busty,” he joked. Feuilly snorted.

“So you went through my underwear drawer.”

“Yup.”

“Pass me some boxers and my binder, please?”

“Are you sure you don’t want the Hufflepuff boxers?”

“Fuck no. You’re going to wash them twice, and then give them back,” he turned to Grantaire to grab the stuff the man obediently fetched, and raised his eyebrows. “That shirt looks awfully small on you.”

“Again: I didn’t have any clothes on me when I came here.”

Feuilly turned around, secured the towel on his hips, and put the binder on. He didn’t mind that Grantaire was still there, looking at his back.

“You have really cute freckles,” Grantaire said. “You know, Feuilly, if I weren’t already in such a mess, I would ask you out.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d marry you, to be honest.”

“Thank you,” he turned around. “What’s gotten into you? You didn’t really say anything yesterday. What’s this mess you’re in?”

Grantaire grimaced. “I almost had sex with Enjolras, and he asked me out, but I think I like Combeferre.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Indeed.”

“Now, can you let me put on my boxers?”

“Can’t I stay here?” Grantaire groaned and rolled onto his belly, hiding his face in the pillow. “I don’t see anything,” his muffled voice reached an amused Feuilly. He put on his boxers and shimmied into some jeans and solid maroon shirt. He dabbed on some cologne, and struggled with his socks and sneakers.

“R, I’m ready. You coming?”

“Not like I can _not_ go,” he mumbled and stood up. “Will you stay with me?”

Feuilly snorted again. “You’re so melodramatic. Let’s go.”

“I do love you, Lily.”

“Don’t call me Lily, goddammit.”

“Fu-Lily.” Feuilly sighed.

 

Feuilly and Grantaire walked in and the meeting had already started. Both Enjolras and Combeferre turned indiscreetly.

“We thought you weren’t coming,” Enjolras said casually, but his fingers, which wouldn’t stay still, gave him away.

“Hey, Enjolras,” Feuilly walked to his usual seat and patted everyone on the back along the way. Grantaire followed behind. He sat between Éponine and Feuilly and didn’t say a word. Enjolras continued speaking.

The meeting was going well, if a little mellower than what it usually went. Grantaire and Enjolras’ subdued mood was noticeable to the most oblivious at the table, namely Bahorel, who looked at Grantaire cautiously. They were discussing details of the rally, which was only a mere two weeks away.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras called. Grantaire looked up from his hands reluctantly. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“In the middle of the meeting? How out of character of you.”

“R…”

“Yes, yes,” he stood up with a sigh and threw a glance at Combeferre, who was looking at him with a strange expression. Enjolras led him down the stairs and to a hidden table near the corner. Musichetta, who was taking an order at the bar, eyed them knowingly, but said nothing. Grantaire sat down and waited patiently as Enjolras sat opposite him and struggled to find his words.

“I want to apologize for what I did yesterday –”

“It was entirely my fault, Apollo. I said yes. You asked for my permission, and I gave it. Don’t apologize.”

“Not really –”

“If you try to apologize again, I will go back upstairs.”

Enjolras looked at him and breathed deeply. “Okay.”

“Is that all?”

“I want you to tell me exactly what happened yesterday.”

“You know what happened. You were there,” he raised his eyebrow. Enjolras looked down.

“I mean, the part where you left and barely gave an explanation. I know what you said, and I understand; I do.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Do you really think it would be too wrong to go out with me? Is it really that bad a prospect?”

“Enjolras…” he pleaded with his voice, but the blond pleaded with his eyes, so he eventually gave in and sighed. “I’m not in love with you, Enjolras.” He looked away.

“If you would let me – if you would give me the chance to be with you, maybe that could change,” he said matter-of-fact. Grantaire shifted his gaze. “I’ve never… done anything of the sort, to be honest,” he admitted, “but I want to try. You’re…” he shrugged with on shoulder and breathed for a few seconds. “I can’t find the word. Sorry.”

Grantaire smirked slightly. “That’s a first.”

“It’s really not. I’m really bad at this kind of conversation.”

“What happened yesterday was a mistake,” he said. Enjolras didn’t respond, but his cheeks pinked. He realized how bad that probably sounded like to him. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I meant…” he sighed yet again and buried his face in his hands for a moment, before leaning back on his seat and folding his hands together. “I was a bit infatuated with you,” he said, tasting the words in his mouth for the first time. “What happened yesterday was – I gave you permission because of the… leftover feelings, or whatever. You know, when something’s dying, it grasps for any lifeline it can reach. The dead may be dead but death longs for life.”

“Oh… oh, I see.”

“It was not a mistake,” he repeats, “just a… faux pas.”

“Yeah, I understand now,” Enjolras smiled ruefully. “I suppose I’ll have to… live with it, I guess. Thank you for explaining.”

“Cheers.”

They stayed silent for a few moments, looking at the table, their hands, the floor, the people opening and closing the entrance door. Enjolras looked up. “We’ll still be friends, right? You won’t stop coming over because of this? Did I completely screw things up?”

Grantaire chuckled. “You didn’t screw things up, Apollo. We all took a few missteps; no shame in that. We’re human, after all,” he smiled up at him. He felt very light all of a sudden.

“You say I’m human, yet you refuse to call me by my name most of the time.”

“You’re stuck with Apollo. It fits.”

They both smiled at each other privately. Grantaire noticed how Enjolras’ eyes drifted every once in a while to his own hands, folded on top of the table. He debated with himself before reaching out and taking the blond’s left hand in his right. Enjolras looked at their joined hands in surprise. Grantaire felt strange.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said. The other looked up at him in question. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.”

Enjolras pursed his lips and shook his head once. “I’m sorry I was too late.”

“Shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” he agreed with a shrug. Grantaire snorted. They went back to keeping quiet, only their joined hands the moving, and even that was subconscious.

“This is so surreal,” Enjolras broke the silence a minute later.

“I suppose, yeah.”

“It’s ironic,” he said, “that I’m glad you’re no longer, um, in love with me. I’m glad for _you_ , I mean. You didn’t deserve to wait and you don’t deserve it now. So I’m glad you’re over it. That’s ironic. I suppose I had it coming; it’s only fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” Grantaire frowned. “Feelings don’t care for justice or equality, or karma, or revenge. Nothing is _fair_ when it comes to stuff like this. It just _is_ ; neither fair nor unfair.”

Enjolras looked at him questioningly. “You don’t think it’s ironic? The turning tables?”

“Maybe it’s ironic, I don’t know, but it’s not _fair_.”

“You’re a wise one.”

“Are you okay?” Grantaire changed topics. He looked at the blond closely. “Will you be okay? Well, I’m probably not the best person to talk to about this – I don’t think it would be the greatest idea to comfort you for… obvious reasons – but I really want you to be happy and fine,” he said and Enjolras gave him a small smile, “and I know you probably won’t do it, and it’s possibly the wrong way to go about it, but I’ll be here for… comfort, or whatever. If you want. You’re actually one of my best friends now, and I like to take care of my best friends. I’m rambling; I must be offending you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he answered. “That’s exactly what I hoped I hadn’t ruined, so thank you. Who knows, I may even take up your offer.”

“So you’re fine?”

“Well, I could definitely be better,” he chuckled, blushing, “I mean, I _was_ turned down, but I’m not upset about it. I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s… better than I thought it would be, actually.”

“Thank Christ,” said Grantaire. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to see you upset knowing that it’s my fault –” he blanched and backtracked, mortified. “Fuck, I’m sorry for saying that. I shouldn’t have said that.” Enjolras laughed, standing up.

“Really, it’s fine.”

“I just meant that I don’t want to see you upset about it, because I don’t like any friend of mine being upset. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“R, I’m fine. You don’t have to be all evasive about it; it’s already out in the open,” he tugged on their still joined hands. “Come on; let’s get back upstairs.”

Grantaire stood up and squeezed his hand. They looked at each other for a moment before they drew together in a tight hug. Grantaire recognized what the strange light feeling was: he felt happy – completely happy and free. He didn’t feel the weight of a dying love for the blond man, or the weight of betrayal, or of relapsing. This was closure, and it felt wonderful.

“You smell like girl,” Enjolras mumbled into his shoulder.

“I tried Feuilly’s perfume,” he mumbled right back. “I also tried on a bra.” Enjolras snorted. “And his girl deodorant,” he hugged tighter and chuckled. “I’m also wearing his boxers.”

“I thought you might say panties.”

“I’ve tried on his panties, too.”

“Oh.”

“I’m glad we’re friends, Apollo.”

“Me too. I… never thought I’d admit to that, to be honest.”

“I never thought I’d get to call you Apollo without you getting all fussed up.”

Enjolras shrugged in his arms. “I got used to it, I suppose.”

Grantaire smiled. They heard heavy steps on the staircase, but didn’t break apart. The person cleared their throat amusedly. “I can assume you’re a combo now?”

Grantaire turned and grinned at a smug Courfeyrac. “Nope.”

“No? Ah, schnookle-doo.”

“Is that a word?”

“Almost a word,” he grinned. “Anyways, Combeferre isn’t really doing anything to continue with the meeting, so I thought I’d get you back, Enjolras, since we actually have to be productive today.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Enjolras, detangling himself. He climbed up the stairs with a small, disclosed smile. Grantaire followed.

When Enjolras sat down next to Combeferre, sought the other’s hand and held it tight under the table for support. Combeferre couldn’t read Enjolras’ face, so he couldn’t know what his friend’s actions meant. He couldn’t for the life of him turn to look at Grantaire, either. The meeting was quickly wrapped up after that.

 

 

From Grantaire [11:47]:    wanna go to the library? havn’t seen you in a while

From Grantaire [11:47]:    i think we should talk about this

From Grantaire [11:48]:    so

From Grantaire [11:48]:    meet me at the library before the meeting?

To Grantaire [15:23]:        Sorry I hadn’t answered; I was in class.

From Grantaire [15:24]:    no you weren’t, you dont have classes on friday afternoon

To Grantaire [15:27]:        Sorry.

To Grantaire [15:28]:        I don’t know what’s going on, to be honest.

From Grantaire [15:28]:    which is why we need to talk

From Grantaire [15:28]:    apollo hasn’t told you anything?

To Grantaire [15:29]:        I’m going to Jehan’s today. I can’t make it.

To Grantaire [15:30]:        Sorry.

From Grantaire [18:03]:    Why are you avoiding me, Combeferre?

From Grantaire [18:04]:    No, I know why you’re avoiding me. It’s fucking stupid.

From Grantaire [18:04]:    Let me see you. I want to talk to you.

From Grantaire [18:06]:    I miss my friend.

From Grantaire [18:09]:    Fucking hell, Ferre, I miss you.

From Grantaire [18:10]:    You didn’t even look at me at the meeting on Wednesday.

From Grantaire [18:10]:    That was two days ago.

From Grantaire [18:10]:    I haven’t talked to you since Sunday.

From Grantaire [18:10]:    Answer me, for fuck’s sake.

From Grantaire [18:11]:    I’m even typing correctly.

From Grantaire [18:34]:    Ferre, please. Don’t leave me hanging like that.

From Grantaire [18:03]:    Don’t you think that you’re maybe overreacting?

To Grantaire [18:06]:        If I tell you that I don’t know what to do with myself, will you leave me alone to think for a while? Enjolras told me, of course. I don’t know what to do.

From Grantaire [18:06]:    Then let’s not do anything, but fuck, don’t just ignore me. It’s not only you who matters here.

To Grantaire [18:07]:        I do miss you, too.

From Grantaire [18:10]:    you’re not even with jehan you piece of shit liar

From Grantaire [18:10]:    i called him

From Grantaire [18:11]:    i’m coming over tomorrow and you can do nothing about it

From Grantaire [18:12]:    ferre?

To Grantaire [18:13]:        Ok. See you tomorrow.

From Grantaire [18:14]:    i’ll bring the nietzsche

 

“Enjolras,” he called. Enjolras turned from his laptop to him.

“Hmm?”

“R’s gonna be here tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay,” the blond turns back to his work. “You’re not avoiding him anymore?”

“I was never avoiding him,” he argued uselessly.

“If _I_ noticed, ‘Ferre…” he trailed off and continued typing for a moment. “Why were you avoiding him, anyways?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry about the lameness and uselessness of this chapter. The next one really is better!


	7. In Sleepy Towns Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras doesn't know why he agreed to go to Disney only two days before the rally. Courfeyrac just wants to go to Fantasyland. Bahorel and Éponine want to go to the Tower of Terror multiple times. Grantaire is happy just by being there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after this one, everything will start drawing to a close, methinks. We shall see. I hope you like it!  
> I really have no idea where this came from. One day I opened word and before I knew it, I was halfway through this chapter. I actually dreamed of Disney that night.  
> I've mentioned before I've never been to Paris, so obviously I haven never been to Disney @ Paris (but I did exteeeeensive research, you have no idea!!!). All my Disney experiences come from Orlando and California, only, but how different could they be, really?  
> Honestly? This is useless fluff that you should all enjoy.
> 
> Title comes from "A Wink and a Smile", from Harry Connick, Jr (which is, by the way, *such a lovely song*! You should listen to it).

“What are we doing here? Why did I ever agree to this?”

“Relax, Apollo.”

“ _Let’s go to Fantasyland!_ ” yelled Courfeyrac.

“But we just got here!” argued Jehan. “Let’s explore and look around for a bit before choosing which park we want to go to.”

“Oh, my god, I can’t believe I’m here.”

“Me neither, Feuilly. Me neither,” Éponine agreed, patting the other girl in the back, “but for different reasons.”

“I’m finally visiting Disneyworld,” she breathed.

“Feuilly –”

“Let her have her moment,” Jehan smiled and her and raised his eyebrow at Bahorel. “You were like that the first time you came, too; don’t deny it.”

“This is ridiculous. It’s a waste of money. I could’ve used that money to buy some quality food for once,” muttered a grumpy Enjolras looking around and grimacing at the loud screeching coming from an unnaturally tiny toddler to his left.

“You’ll enjoy it, Enjolras,” laughed Combeferre with joy. “I haven’t been here in forever.”

“Whose idea was this, anyways?” Enjolras grumbled.

“Mine, O Fearless Leader,” Grantaire replied smugly before turning to the others. “I propose a wager.”

“You’re on,” Bahorel replied automatically.

“Twenty euros say Enjolras’ll be wearing an eared hat, holding a balloon and singing _It’s a Small World_ by the time we leave.”

“You’re _so_ on,” Éponine offered.

“I’m in,” Feuilly grinned and looked at a grumpy Enjolras. “There’s no way he’s buying one of those hats, or a balloon.”

“I think he will,” Jehan nodded.

“I’m here, and I assure you, I won’t do any of those things,” said Enjolras dryly.

“You’ll definitely get _It’s a Small World_ stuck in your brain,” Combeferre said seriously. “Don’t underestimate it. Can’t you remember how it goes?”

“Vaguely,” shrugged Enjolras before singing the chorus: “‘… est tout petit; devant le ciel on s –’”

“NO!”

“ _Stop!_ ”

“ _I’m not ready yet!_ ”

“This is going to be so great,” Grantaire ruffled Enjolras’ hair, much to the blond’s annoyance.

“This is completely ludicrous,” grumbled Enjolras.

“When are Cosette and Marius supposed to meet us?” asked Feuilly.

“In two hours,” Éponine replied. “Cosette wanted to be here since the beginning but her father insisted…”

“Yeah, having a talk with Marius.”

“Poor kid,” said Bahorel.

“Hey, he’s coming to Disney after meeting the future in-law.”

“With his _girlfriend_.”

“Only the trio is missing,” Combeferre noted.

“Should we take a photo for the Jolys?” Jehan suggested.

“Would you like to receive photos of your friends having fun in the Kingdom of Happiness, where they went without you, just because your partner is sick?” Courfeyrac raised his eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then,” he granted and spoke to everyone. “Strike a pose; I’ll shoot.”

“Use mine,” said Bahorel, pressing his camera to Courfeyrac’s hands. The appointed photographer aimed the lens and waited for his friends to… do anything other than stand around.

“Well, aren’t you going to hug or smile or something?” They all grouped together and smiled widely, and Courfeyrac took the photo of them, before turning the camera around and taking a selfie.

“Let me see it, let me see it!”

“I think I blinked.”

“Can we have another? I’m pretty sure I moved.”

“Did you make sure the logo was visible?”

“Shut up, all of you,” Courfeyrac called loudly and everybody huddled around him wanting to see the photo. Bahorel was on the far left, his left arm around Feuilly’s waist. The girl rested her left hand on Éponine’s right shoulder, while she squished Grantaire’s waist and hugged Feuilly sideways. Grantaire had his right hand on top of her head, and his left arm was stretching across Enjolras’ shoulders to press on Combeferre’s back. Enjolras was flushed and smiling slightly, arms awkwardly tucked to his chest, and Combeferre rested his right hand on his friend’s left shoulder, grinning openly as he was being halfway crushed to death by Jehan on his other side. The Disneyworld logo could be seen in the background.

“This is the greatest photo I’ve ever taken.”

“My eyes look red.”

“That just goes to show that you’re a soulless ginger, Lily.”

“Call my Lily again and you shall know just how much of a soulless demon I am, Grantaire.”

“It’s great!”

“Great, let’s go.”

“Slow down, Bahorel!”

“I want to go to the Tower of Terror!” he whined. “I vote for Disney Studios Park.”

“I say we should go to Disneyland,” Jehan said. “It’s adorable and the princesses are there, and it’s _full of my favorite movies_.”

“Let’s just pick whichever park already.”

“Can we go to the restrooms?”

“Jesus Christ, let’s just split up.”

“I second that.”

“Agreed.”

“Cool,” Courfeyrac says. “I’ll go with Jehan. Disneyland!”

“I’ll go with you two if you promise to keep your hands to yourselves,” said Feuilly.

“Not during the rides.”

“Come on, it’s a children’s park!”

“Of course we’re not gonna bang in the middle of Disneyland, Feuilly,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. Enjolras scrunched up his nose.

“Bang.”

“Ancient euphemism for ‘have sex’,” Grantaire told him and both Combeferre and Enjolras rolled their eyes.

“I know that, it’s the word choice that I don’t understand.”

“Well, Courf is an un-understandable creature.”

“You could come with us to Disney Studios, Feuilly,” Éponine pulls at the short tufts of hair in the back of her head to get her attention.

“Us being who?”

“Bahorel and I, at least,” she shrugged and looked at Grantaire, Combeferre and Enjolras. “Whom are you sticking to?”

“I’m not about to accept a free vista of Jehan and Courf bonding,” Grantaire smiled.

“Neither am I.”

“I’m sticking with you,” Combeferre agreed.

“Well, now I feel bad,” Jehan snorted. “I’ll get Marius and Cosette to come with us when they get here, then.”

“Double date at Disneyland!” Courfeyrac grinned. “Amazing!” Jehan kissed his cheek with a giggle.

“You’re such a child.”

“Toodles, then,” Éponine saluted him before turning away and dragging Feuilly with her towards the entrance to Disney Studios; Combeferre, Enjolras and Grantaire followed closely. Bahorel paused and patted Courfeyrac in the back.

“No homo.”

“Dude, you have a boyfriend wearing flowers in his braid,” Bahorel snorted. Jehan laughed along amiably. “Seriously, though, let us know where you are every once in a while, yeah?”

“I’ll be Whatsapping you,” Jehan assured him. “We’ll go to Fantasyland right now. And your troop is leaving you, so you’d better get going.” Bahorel looked behind him and cursed. He hurried until he fell into step with the rest of them.

“Gee, fucking thanks. At least I know how it’d go in a Zombie Apocalypse,” he said.

“You’re a fucking giant; you’d make it.”

“Stop swearing, the two of you,” Combeferre raised his eyebrow at Bahorel and Éponine. “It’s Disney.”

“Yeah, go figure.”

“I mean it’s a family zone.”

“R, tell him he’s being a P-U-S-S-Y.”

“I’m not gonna say that word. It’s Disney.”

“Thank you, Grantaire.”

“Screw you, Grantaire.” They made their way to the park entrance with excitement –all except for Enjolras – and paused there.

“So where are we going?” asked the blond rubbing his eyes in exasperation, nearly twenty minutes later, as soon as they walked out of the store empty-handed. He sighed. “I should’ve stayed home or with Musichetta, so Joly and Bossuet came.”

“’Chetta would not appreciate your company, Enjolras,” Feuilly told him behind her shoulder. “You get pissed too easily.”

“That you do,” agreed Bahorel.

“I should know,” snorted Grantaire. Enjolras glared at him, and turned to glare at Combeferre when the man agreed with a snort.

“I’m perfectly good company when I want to be, I’ll let you know.”

“Sure you are, _Ange_ -olras.”

Enjolras stayed silent for a moment. “I don’t know if you said my name mockingly or if you called me an angel.”

“Can’t it be both, bel ange?”

“Oh, god, no,” Bahorel groaned. “Why did I think coming with you was a good idea?”

“Because going with Courf and Jehan was a worse idea,” Éponine answered. “You know what? I don’t think I’ll be able to stand you.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, though. Feuilly,” she said, and the girl looked up at her. “You wanna come with me?”

“Sure.”

“Yes, me too,” Bahorel agreed. “You’re two are too annoying,” he said, pointing at Enjolras and Grantaire.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“And I’m supposed to babysit them?” Combeferre asked.

“No one said that. You could come with us,” Éponine smiled. “Leave those two to their own devices.”

Combeferre fidgeted a bit. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t abandon me,” Grantaire joked.

“More like don’t abandon _me_.”

Combeferre wiped his eyes. “Jesus Christ, I think I’ll go with the girls.”

“And Bahorel,” the man pointed out.

“And Bahorel.”

“Judas.”

“There are two Judases in the bible, Grantaire, one doesn’t simply –”

“I’m definitely going with them,” Combeferre hurries to say and walks towards the others. “I’m trusting you with his life, R.”

“Well, if you’re Judas, it’s only fair I’m the Messiah, here to bring protection and guidance to the ignorant and bitter,” he patted Enjolras’ shoulder as he said this, making the blond roll his eyes.

“Keep me informed.”

“Sure, ‘Ferre.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Feuilly pulled Combeferre’s arm. “Let’s go to the Park.”

“I’m serious: keep me informed!” he said one last time before he started walking with the others to the entrance of the park, not looking back; the two men left behind saw as they handed in the tickets, accepted the maps, and made their way inside with glee. Only after they were away did Enjolras look at Grantaire, but did so expectantly. Grantaire, for his part, was looking at where the others went, with a smile. When he finally turned to Enjolras, he raised his eyebrows equally expectant.

“What?”

“Well, what do we do?”

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

“Just go wherever you want to go.”

“Apollo, it’s Disne –”

“Call me Apollo again and I’m deserting you.”

“Fine: _mon ange, mon chéri_ , it’s Disneyworld, and you must be happy in Disneyworld. Thumb rule.”

“R, I don’t think I can really enjoy this. Too much noise and too many people…”

“Okay, you know what, you apathetic excuse of a blond?” Grantaire told him very seriously, “I’m gonna make this the best day ever for you.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “I doubt it’ll fit my current definition of it.”

“And what might that definition be?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I really do, believe me.”

“Well, I don’t want you to know,” Enjolras turned away from him. “Now, go on and make my day.”

“We’re going to Disneyland,” said Grantaire excitedly before looking at his map, taking his hand, and leading the way. Enjolras didn’t even pretend to be annoyed. “The Indiana Jones ride is there.”

“Wait, you mean the park Jehan and Courf went to? The one with the princesses and kiddie rides?”

“Yeah. You’ll like it more than you’d like Disney Studios. I just know it. I can _feel_ it.”

Enjolras smiled and was happily dragged to the other side of the entrance. They handed in their tickets, accepted the maps just like the others had, and walked in. Enjolras looked around and tried to hide how wonderful it all looked. Apparently it didn’t work, because Grantaire giggled at him.

“Stop it,” he flushed. “I just didn’t remember how it looked… I can’t remember anything, to be honest.”

“You’ll love it.”

Enjolras spotted a swarm of children around a… “Is that Mulan?”

“WHAT? WHERE?” Enjolras pointed numbly at her and before he knew it, he was by her side. He looked at Grantaire with a curious frown. The man was oblivious. “Mulan, you’re my favorite princess. Please permit me to abuse of my rights as an adult of age and take a photo with you before these kids.”

Mulan told them to wait.

“Your favorite princess just denied you and told you to wait,” Enjolras pointed out. Grantaire snorted.

“Plenty of things to do in the meantime. Let’s take selfies. Lots of them.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he answered as he found an ideal location. He ushered him to some random place and told him to smile, and to smile again, and to smile like he meant it.

“I’m smiling like I mean it!” he whined. Grantaire laughed, shook is head, and kissed his cheek. His face immediately flushed and broke into an embarrassed grin. He dimly noticed Grantaire had used the chance to take a few photos.

“See? How hard was that?” he joked and he found himself smiling back, and following him back to Mulan with glee. He grinned at the camera when their turn came, and laughed at the way Grantaire fangirled over her.

Grantaire led him forwards, and forwards, and forwards, and all the while they were passing beautiful shops, candy stores, and complete families dressed as Disney characters. He was a little bit overwhelmed by it all, but Grantaire didn’t let him pause to take it all in until they stopped in front of a gigantic roundabout. Not even the insane amount of noise would put him off when the sight was this beautiful.

Grantaire looked at him and smiled softly. “Sorry I didn’t let you stop back there; it’s just that if you get stuck there, you never get to the good part, which is the actual park.”

“This is gorgeous,” he blurted out and turned to him eagerly. “Where to first? I kind of want to see everything.”

“Including the parade?”

“There’s a _parade?_ ”

“Oh, sweet summer child. I am going to deflower your Disneyland-deprived self. I will pop your magical-Disney-cherry. I am going to take all the bitterness in your heart and turn in into caramelized apples.”

“You need to calm down.”

“I say we should go to…” he checked his map and thought for a minute, Enjolras watching expectantly. “Adventureland. We’re going to Adventureland first.”

“Aren’t we going to go in order?”

“Some things are better earlier in the day, and other things are much more enjoyable around sunset. Discoveryland is much more exciting when it’s dark.”

“Okay; you’re the artist, I suppose.”

“Thank you, flatterer.”

Enjolras looked at his map and started walking in the direction of Adventureland, Grantaire laughing behind him.

 

“‘Au bout du Pole Nord, ou sur l'equa –’ oh, heavens above, R, _make it stop!_ ”

“No way. This is sacred punishment, sent by some divine deity who believes in justice.”

“I can’t stop _thinking_ about it. It won’t get out of my head!” Enjolras cradled his head in his hands and stared at the sky for a few seconds before looking accusingly at Grantaire, who was hiding his silent laughter behind his right hand. “You dragged me into that god forsaken game. You fix it.”

“No can do. Only oneself can solve one’s trauma. You want a Psychologist? Go to ‘Ferre.”

“We got out of that ride more than half an hour ago.”

“And it’s been a brilliant half an hour!”

“I can feel my brain melting to the tune of that song.”

“This too shall pass.”

“I couldn’t even properly enjoy the teacups ride.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Wanna go eat something before heading to Discoveryland? It’ll be dark in a bit over an hour.”

“Sure. Where to?” Enjolras turned to him with a brilliant smile, all complaints about the infamous ‘It’s a Small World’ ride forgotten.

“Depends: are you craving expensive real food, or expensive hot dogs?”

“What about expensive pizza?”

“Whatever the charming Prince Charming desires.”

Enjolras stifled a smile. “Seriously?”

“What? It’s Disneyland! I’m excused.”

“Alright, then,” he rolled his eyes fondly. “Must it be in Fantasyland?”

“Like I said: whatever my Prince desires. Your wish is my command. I am here to entertain your every whim.”

“So you’re my buffoon.”

“Look at that, Prince Charming is very cunning!” he joked.

“I don’t think I’m very charming,” noted Enjolras. “I’m often told I’m very radical, and not in a good way.”

“Nah, _mon ange_. You have a temper, yes, but you’re very, very charming. You’re a charming young man with the ever-present potential to get prissy.”

“Thanks.”

“At your service,” he replied easily before looking around and spotting a little chalet close to the Sleeping Beauty castle. “Ah, look, a fancy restaurant.”

“Where?” he looked at where Grantaire pointed and pursed his lips. “It’s one of the expensive ones, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “but they have actual menus with more dishes than just hot dogs, pizza, turkey legs, Coke and water.”

“I suppose…”

“And, ah! There goes Ariel. She’s getting inside. Is that prince Eric with her?”

“It appears to be, yes.”

“We’re definitely going there. Hot princes with their respective fierce princesses in a little castle in the very heart of Disneyland campus Paris, with Prince Ange for company.

 “Start thinking about what you want to eat, so we can order quickly,” he said finally when he started walking to the chalet. There was no queue at all, which was weird. Enjolras looked at him before making up his mind and striding to him.

“‘Disneyland campus Paris’?” Enjolras chuckled. “I’ll pay for the both of us.”

“What? No,” Grantaire frowned at the blond, whose face offered no dispute. “No, Enjolras. If you really want to, we can split.”

“R, you brought the whole group to Disneyland, you paid for Feuilly’s entrance ticket, you willingly stayed with me and made of this day one of the best I’ve had, and I kind of really want to take you on a date. I’m paying.”

“Whoa.”

“Please,” he stated-asked. Grantaire stared at Enjolras. He fidgeted. “I believe one must return all niceness with kindness?”

“Um…”

“Humor me? Please? You’re here to entertain my every whim, right?” said Enjolras. “Or if you don’t care for any of that, just take it that it’s out of the goodness of my heart.”

Grantaire looked at him for a moment longer before smiling very small and loosely entwining his right hand’s fingers with Enjolras’ left’s, much to the blond’s surprise. Grantaire pulled him forward to the restaurant, requested a table for two, and led Enjolras to the table, their hands still loosely twined. The blond followed somewhat in a trance.

He looked at Grantaire for one or two seconds, face like a dumbstruck fish. “Um… may I ask… um.”

“Consider this the one date,” smiled Grantaire. Enjolras beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Next week brings forth the next one. The beginning of the preface of the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay for my first Ferre/R contribution! I'll upload the next chapter in 6-8 days.  
> 


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